Second Chances
by Katniss1
Summary: The regret resonating through her mind was so strong as to be painful, and bring tears to her eyes. And she decided that, perhaps this man deserved a second chance at life. Alternating OC and Boromir POV, no slash, rated T for safety. You will be confused during the first chapter. Starts during the books/movies, but will move out of them quickly.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi! This would be my first attempt at an LOTR fic, and only my third try at a fic in general, so please be nice! Also, in this first part, you are meant to be confused as I basically made up whats going on, but I will explain later. I would also really appreciate if you would review, because it helps me become a better writer. Thanks!**

* * *

She found the body when she went to the river to drink. At first, she had thought him to be a log, his dark, water soaked clothes deceiving her, but as she had knelt beside the water, she had caught a glimpse of his pale skin and recognised the figure of a man for what it was. For a while, she debated with herself, unsure wether she should become involved in... whatever this was. But, deciding that she should at least pay some respect to the body, she prepared to retrieve the man. After wading out in the knee deep water of the cove, she grabbed him beneath the arms, starting to drag him onto the shore. As she touched him, however, she cried out, flinching away and falling into the icy water. The resonance of regret was so strong within her mind that it brough tears to her eyes as she struggled back to her feet, her chest tight with the pain of it. Shaking her head, she braced herself to grab the man again. When she did so, the emotion once more swept over her, causing her to gasp. But, bowing her head in concentration, she fought it back, forcing herself not to read the emotions until she had gotten the man out of the water.

It was a struggle for her, but she managed to drag him up onto the rocky shore, despite his sodden weight. She let him go with relief, sitting in the sand beside him while she waited for her emotions to once again be her own. Slowly, regret and pain and sadness released her, giving way to curiosity and concern. Who was this man who had washed up on her shore? She knelt beside him, using the sleeves of her tunic to keep her skin from connecting with him as she rolled him onto his back. He was tall, and his face was that of a man, not of an elf, with long wavy brown hair and the stubble of a beard on his chin. He wore rich clothing; a red tunic with a black vest over it, fine leggings that were nonetheless made for work, and a pair of expensive traveling boots. Even with the damage from the river, she could see that his hands were calloused from handling swords. He was clearly some sort of noble, but was also a warrior.

But more interesting than his standing, was his fate. Piercing his tunic were three large tears, stained with blood - one in his shoulder, one in his gut, and one in his chest, right over his heart. Upon closer inspection, she could see a large puncture wound beneath each of these holes, as if they had been made by arrows or spears. He had been killed in action, then somehow had ended up being washed down the river. He hadn't been in the water very long though, as there was minimal water damage to his body. She pushed her hair behind her ears as she sat back on her heels, thinking.

And the regret. There had been that awful, _awful_ sense of regret with even the slightest brush of her skin against him. This man had died wishing so much for something, something he had or hadn't done. Such a strong sense it was that she was reluctant to make any sort of contact with him, much less go to the land where he resided, where the resonances would be felt without contact. And yet... if his regret was so strong, did he not deserve a second chance? She rubbed at her face, damp palms cooling her skin.

Finally, she came to a decision. Silently, she shut her eyes, closing off her senses to anything but the task at hand. If one was not properly focusing, it was all together to easy to lose one's self, she knew. Then, there was the familiar rush of cold, the feeling of weightlessness, and the apparent slowing of time. As she opened her eyes, her senses were assailed by a new set of stimuli. Instead of hearing the chirp of birds and the rushing of water, there was the ringing song of all living things, each song slightly different from any other. And, instead of the blue of the sky, and the green of the grass, and the general colorfulness of the world, everything was either a shade of black or white. Her island was illuminated with light from the glowing white of the trees, who, though they weren't a bright as a moving creature, were much larger and more numerous here. She herself was glowing brightly, but as she looked at her hands, she could see the wisps of her light being blown away by an unfelt wind, slowly but surely - such were the dangers of being in a land where she did not belong. She had perhaps an hour, if she really wanted it, and even then she would be very weak when she returned to where she belonged. She needed to work quickly.

She looked down at the figure of the man. There were the grey edges around the pitch black of a non living object at the edges of his extremities, showing that he was in fact dead. But there, the veins of light that ran through the center of his body, showed where his essential being, or soul as many called it, was clinging desperately to his body, all making their way back to a fuzzy glowing orb right about where his heart belonged. Had she been properly in her body, she would have hissed with dismay - the orb was many layers down, causing it to be so indistinct. _So far down, in such a short period of time!_ The circumstances under which he died must have been extreme, and his determination to keep going strong, for his time had come long before his heart actually ceased to beat. She shook her head. _I have less time than I thought,_ she muttered within her mind, as speech was impossible in that realm. But, she had already started, and to turn back now would be wasteful. So, shutting her eyes once more, she felt the cold become more intense as she drifted down through the layers of the realm, opening her eyes three of four layers down, wincing as she saw that the orb was at least three more layers down. Already, the white wisps of her essence were whipping away like fog in a storm. She would have only a matter of minutes to complete her task. Taking the equivalent of a deep breath, she plunged herself the last couple of layers in one go, not wanting to waste any more time.

Here, her glow was diffusing so fast that it was obscuring her vision. Leaning forwards so she could see past it, she found that she had guessed correctly, and was on the same level as his essence. Even with the constraints of time heavy upon her mind, she hesitated to touch it, fearing for what she might see or know. The feelings of before were pressing into her, and she knew that touching it would only make it worse. But, as another cloud of her own essence flitted past her vision, she realized that nothing could be worse than losing herself in this middle realm, and grasped for his essence with a careless haste.

Thus, her barriers were down as the flood of thought, memory, and emotion barraged her mind. She threw up her defenses a fraction of a second too late, and for a moment, she was not only herself, but two people. With fear, the part of her that was still her realized that she would have to wait until his presence had receded to return to the surface, or her mind might very well end up sharing with his. Though she knew it to be impossible, she tried to ignore all the thoughts and memories that she was now in possession of, to not intrude on this man's privacy. But, it was indeed impossible, and even as he slipped away, she found that she knew more about this man than he might appreciate.

When he was well and truly gone, she glanced down at herself, examining the contents of her body. Her outer extremities now were completely black, leaving only her core and the center of her arms and legs and head with a glow. She couldn't wait, and she had not the time for being careful. With reckless speed, she shot up through the layers, trying her best to shield the soul she now cradled in her hands from the intense pressure of the shift, and to not take any of it's essence for her own, however tempting it might be. As she arrived, she could feel the soul beginning to warm her hands, eager to rejoin the body it had been forced to leave. Obligingly, she released it, and watched as it flooded the body, describing each organ and system in the body. She watched as each one began to function once again, and instantly could see that what had killed him was not a lack of blood, but instead an inability for his heart to pump properly, due to a large tear in it. Silently thanking whoever had left the weapons in him until after his death to leave his blood inside himself, she began to work. Her now entirely black hands passed easily into his body, her lack of essence to conflict with his allowing her to move through seemingly solid things if she so chose. She found the tear in the vital organ and then, with a confidence that came only from years or practice, took a small amount of what little of her precious essence was left, and changed it from that essential energy into matter, patching the tear in his heart.

Even at the slowed rate at which her essence was depleted on this level, she was getting dangerously close from being entirely swept away by the realm. Her time was almost up. With desperate haste, she forced some of her essence into every part of her body, even if it was only the faintest of glows, before jerking herself back into the physical world. Gasping and trembling, she dropped from her knees onto her hip, her entire body feeling as if it had had the circulation cut off for a very long time, creating the feeling of pins and needles. And yet, her discomfort was small in comparison to the intense satisfaction she was feeling. That was the deepest she had even been in the levels, and she had not only returned, but succeeded in rescuing the man she had set out to save.

She didn't have long to be pleased, however. In quick succession, she was jerked to her knees, then to her feet, before finding herself with her back pinned against a tree, a pale face beginning to flush again very close to hers, and a blade to her neck.

* * *

Boromir woke to the sight of a creature of darkness looming over him. It appeared to have a human shape, but was entirely black, and seemed to suck in the light around it. As he watched, it leaned back, seeming to shrink beside him, and looked at him almost hungrily. Without hesitation, he rolled onto his side and grabbed the creature, jerking it around to gain control of it. Then, he gained his feet, spinning it so that it was pinned against the tree, and whipped out the small dagger like knife that he kept in a sheath at his belt to hold beneath what he hoped was it's throat.

"Who are you?" He demanded, his voice oddly hoarse, "What are you?" When the creature did not immediately answer, he pressed the blade slightly into it's skin and yelled, "Answer me!"

"P-please Lord Boromir!" The voice sounded oddly hesitant, as if it did not know the common tongue very well, "You see me with the eyes of a dead man! I beg you, look again!"

_The eyes of a dead man?_ Boromir thought, his eyes narrowing with confusion. Shaking his head, he looked again to find that, instead of some monster, he was pinning a girl of perhaps sixteen against this tree, and drawing a line of blood with his knife. Startled, and very confused, he stepped back, dropping the dagger with a clang. "Please, forgive me." He said, reminded of another small person who he had tried to kill, "I did not, I thought-"

"As have many before you." The girl replied, sliding down the trunk of the tree, looking as if her legs would not support her for a moment more. "Please, sit. You will kill yourself again if you keep moving about." Her speech was sounding more and more confident as she continued.

_Again? _Boromir did as she said, realizing that he did in fact feel quite faint, and was in great pain. His hand reach for his chest, finding that there was a great puncture right through his shirt, and into his skin. With a flash, he remembered. After he had tried to take the ring from Frodo, there had been the Uruk-Hai, coming to kill them, and he had been shot thrice with arrows. By all rights he should have died as soon as the third arrow had struck him, but he hadn't been ready - there had been things he needed to say. And so he had fought, fought to try and rid himself of at least some of the guilt he had felt at what he had done, but in vain. He had died... he had _died._

"Are you...?" he began, and the girl watched him silently, waiting for him to finish the sentence. "Are you Death?"

The girl let out a laugh, a sound like bells chiming. It was how he might imagine the laughing of elves to sound. "Nay, not I, though I have been called such many a time."

Boromir examined the girl with curiosity, trying to discern from what race she might come. Her hair was long and blonde, like that of the Mirkwood Elves, and her skin was pale also, and yet, her eyes were bordering on black. "Then what are you?"

Her merriment in the girls eyes faded, replaced by a look of wistful sadness. "I do not rightfully know."

Again they fell into silence, and Boromir once again examined his wounds. They seemed to have healed, though hey still hurt like the devil. Wiping his hair from his face, he looked back up at the girl. "I was... I was dead." He said, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes." She said.

"And yet it feels as if I am yet living."

"That is because you yet live." She offered him a sad smile. "You should rest; my explanations would take too long, and you are weary."

Uneasy, Boromir did not lay down. "Who are you?"

The girl looked away, staring pointedly at the ground. "I have been called by many names. Demon, Monster, Necromancer, but I am none of these."

"Then what is the name you are truly called by? The one by which you might introduce yourself?" He asked, frustrated by her avoidance of his question.

Plucking a piece of grass from the ground, she hesitated a moment, before whispering, "I have none." She began to knot the blade of grass as she said, "You must rest, or you may meet death yet." The girl gained her feet, if a bit unsteadily, and started into the forest. "Have no fear - no one comes to this island except me. You are perfectly safe."

Boromir watched her go, this mystical girl who had danced around his words with a skill he had rarely seen. Who and what she was would have to remain a mystery for now, as he did indeed find that he was excessively weary. Laying himself out in the soft grass, he cushioned his head with his arm before letting his eyes slip shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Alright, so this chapter might be a little bit list-y, but it's kind of necessary if you want to understand what happened last chapter. So, here goes. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, namely Nemo. Also, thank you for follows and favorites!**

**And, despite what it may look like, this is not going to turn into Boromir/OC, or at least not this OC. She's 16, guys, and he's 30. Not gonna happen. So, just throwing that out there.**

* * *

The crackling heat of a nearby fire woke Boromir, along with the sound of boiling water. Wondering why on earth Aragorn had allowed a fire, he sat up like a shot, before groaning as pain flared in his chest and starting to flop back down. To his surprise, his fall was stopped by gentle arms, who lowered him the rest of the way.

"If this is how you treat your wounds, it's a miracle you lived to see your second battle," came the gently teasing voice, and he opened his eyes, finding a set of deep black eyes to meet them, "You'll tear yourself right back apart if you keep flopping about like a fish out of water." The face drew away, and he looked around, following the petit girl's figure as she crouched beside a tripod. Using a crudely whittled spoon, she stirred the contents of a large pot as she said, "Actually, you woke at a most opportune time, I just finished the soup." She pulled out two wooden bowls of a similar quality to her spoon and scooped some of the food into them, carrying them over. "Sorry there's no meat, but no animals will be coming near here for quite a while." She set the bowls down, and carefully helped him sit up, propping him against a nearby tree. Then, she handed him his bowl, saying, "I'd imagine you wouldn't take kindly to being fed, and your one shoulder should be fine."

"Thank you." Boromir said, looking curiously into the bowl. The broth was a pale tan, and in it floated a multitude of different plants, all chopped nicely. As he took a cautious sip, he found that the mix had a strangely tangy taste, as if there were fruits in the mixture as well. "What is in this?"

The girl shrugged, taking a sip herself. "I do not know their names in any tongue but my own."

"And what tongue is your own?" He asked.

She chuckled, and he bristled slightly at the thought she might be laughing at him. "You misunderstand me - literally, my own tongue, in the sense that it is mine, and no one else's." She shrugged again, taking another gulp of soup.

Boromir studied her as he continued to eat, reflecting on what he knew of her. He had seen her as a beast of some sort when he had first woken, and somehow she had raised him from the dead. And yet, she had said that she was not a necromancer. She lived alone, if what she had said before was any indication, spoke her own language, and, he could now clearly see, wore a tunic and hose like a man. A criminal, perhaps, cast out by her people? And what people were they, he pondered. He, as of yet had not seen her ears, but her hair and complexion warred with her eyes to say if she were a man or an elf. Perhaps she was some sort of half-breed, rejected by both for her parentage. Deciding that there was really only one way to find out, he asked her, "Will you answer the questions you avoided yesterday?"

She froze in the middle of her action, looking at him. "Perhaps, if you ask the right way."

Boromir pondered this, thinking out his next words carefully before speaking them. "If I asked you what your race was, would you tell me?"

She shrugged yet again, but this time it was an uncomfortable action. "I would, but I cannot."

"You cannot?" Boromir exclaimed softly.

"No. I was raised by men, but... I am not like them."

"In what way?" He prompted.

"Well, amongst other things..." he saw her hesitate, and offered her an encouraging smile. "I can, um, raise the dead."

Boromir's breath caught. Of course, he had known that she must have, for she herself had confirmed he had died. And yet, hearing it out loud... "How?" He whispered, his fingers going unconsciously to his dagger.

Setting down her bowl, she ran her hand through her hair, leaving it more rumpled than before. "Do you really wish to know?"

"Yes." He instantly replied. "Very much."

"It's a long tale."

"I have a long time."

Their eyes met across the space between them, each silently willing the other to give in. Eventually, the girl dropped her eyes, shaking her head. "Fine. But if I tell you my story, you must tell me yours."

"Of course."

She stood, retrieving more of the broth, before resettling herself beside him, so that she too was leaning against the large trunk of the tree.

"To spare you asking any more questions, I may as well just start from the beginning. As I was told, my father died in a battle of some sort, and my mother died in giving birth to me, her only child. I lived in a small town in the mountains, where such things are bad omens, and so I was already looked upon as bad luck. The old woman who took me in was taking care of several other children at the time, to the point where he home was more an orphanage than anything else. Both she and the other children wished to have nothing to do with me, and so I found myself mostly alone. I had no friends, no family, no one who cared for me. I was given a bed and food, but little more." She again brushed her hair back, another nervous action. "And I was fine. I convinced myself that being alone was better. That there was no fear of losing anyone, no need to mourn. I spoke only rarely, and spent most of my time out in the woods, with the animals and trees, learning from them instead of the people who hated me. But, I would always return, as I needed them, despite their scorn. I was young, I needed their food and their shelter. Or at least, I thought this to be true. I later found that this was false."

"I went through my first shift to the Middle Realm when I was ten years old." Boromir opened him mouth to ask a question, but she interrupted, saying, "I will explain. There was another child, a little boy, whose parents had also died. He had just arrived, and was very sick, but people decided he was cursed, and left him to die. Knowing he was not cursed, but like me, I went to him and tried to help him. Finding a kindred soul, I allowed myself to become attached to this boy, thinking perhaps we could be alone together in this world. I kept him alive for months, and yet he did not recover. I stayed by his side, trying to keep him breathing, and so I was there as he drew his last one. Distraught, I unknowingly slipped the bonds of this world and slipped into one no living person was meant to see." The girl drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them as might a little child. "Shall I explain it to you, or shall I continue?"

"Would I be able to understand?" The Gondorian asked, his meal all but forgotten.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Her fingers were twining and untwining now, slowly and thoughtfully. "I know not it's true name, but I call it the Middle Realm. It is a land between life and death, where it is indistinct. Everything that lives glows white in this realm, and that which is dead is darker than the darkest of nights. And, every living thing has it's own song, which can be heard in the realm. "

"What kind of song?" Boromir asked, trying to picture what this realm might look like.

"It depends." She looked around. "For example, my song is like that of a Nightingale, but yours is like a drum. I know not why the songs differ, only that they do. And, that they can change. The first time I entered the realm, my song was that of a single woman's voice, though I did not realize what it was at the time. But one thing that always stays the same is that, if all things are coexisting, the songs will blend together into a most beautiful choir." She shifted so that she was looking at him, and no longer resting against the tree. "The glow in every living thing is their 'essence', what most people would call a soul. Unlike many people believe, the soul is not lost when the body is; or at least, not instantly. There are many layers of the middle realm, though they are not literally one on top of the other. The closest thing I can equate it to is one box inside another, though this cannot truly capture it either." She sighed. "It is a most complicated place. But every living thing resides partially within the first layer, in the form of their essence. And, when they die, the core of their essence retreats down to the second layer, usually, but veins of it almost always remain connected to their body, with varying strength, depending."

"Depending on what?" Boromir pressed, wanting now to understand.

"Lots of things. As far as I can tell, the only things that can create these bonds are love and regret, one often being present in the absence of the other. The stronger the emotion, the larger and firmer the ties. Over time, the core of the essence sinks down through the layers, and as it does the ties to the body will weaken, until they fade all together. At that point, the soul drops out of the Middle Realm, and becomes irretrievable. When I found you, your core was lower in the levels than I'd ever been. Had I found you only slightly later, your soul might have exited the Middle Realm while the ties to your body still lingered, forcibly dragging them out."

Frowning, Boromir looked around. "How long was I d... dead? The trees sun speaks of only a short time having passed. How could my soul be so low in the levels?"

She sighed. "Not always does the core settle just one layer down. If one fights death, and remains living even after their time has come, they can be granted a small amount of time. But, it comes at a price. The longer one remains in their world against death's wishes, the further down the layers they are plunged. I know not how long you fought death, but you were six or seven layers down in only a day or two, almost four times faster than any I'd ever seen."

Boromir nodded, deciding this was probably it, as she continued. "When I am on the same layer as the core, I am able to grab it and pull it back to the body, though if I do not repair what killed them, they will just die again. But I must be careful, or the core will try to enter me, believing I am their living body. I have to block it out, or risk having two people living within me. " A shudder racked her body, as she said, "I have more than once had to expel a being from me when I was careless." She shook her head, as if to ward of the grim thoughts. "But once the soul is back inside it's physical body, it will once again flood it, trying to regain it's hold there. If what killed the person is no longer present, they will most likely live."

"And this is what you did with the boy." Boromir finished for her, and she nodded.

"Yes. I brought him back, not quite knowing what I was doing, just knowing that he didn't look like I did, filled with light. Though, when I returned to the physical world, he was still as ailed as before, he was breathing again, and I had a chance to save him. I had been able to see what was wrong while in the other world, as every organ of the body is outlined with one's essence, and I was able to begin to fix it once back in the world I was meant to be in. However, I was not alone while I fixed the boy." She looked up, and he could see her face had gone pale. "The old woman had seen me, had watched as I appeared to change from a human and into a monster, the monster you saw yesterday. She called me a demon, and cast me out, along with the boy who I saved. Their rumors spread faster than we could possibly move, and so we were turned away by every town and village we came to, shunned as demons come to kill them all." Her eyes were distant, as if she were seeing things he could not. "I didn't know how to get food or how to support myself, much less a sick little boy. When he died the second time, I wanted to save him again, but I did not know how to re-enter the Middle Realm; the last time it had been an accident. So, but the time I figured it out, his soul was gone, and I was alone." She came back to the present with a jerk, forcibly loosening her arms and legs so that she sat naturally against the tree again. "After that, there is little to tell. I gradually figured out what I could and could not eat, and found my way to a small island in a river where no one comes. I learned to hunt, to cook, and to keep myself alive. And, I learned how to slip in and out of the realm. I lived in peace here for almost five years, practicing my skills on animals and plants who died on the island, working out how the Middle Realms works." She looked over at him. "And then, you came."

Looking away, Boromir nodded. "Indeed. And I am very grateful for your assistance."

The girl smiled, this time looking as if she might actually mean it. "Well, I'd like to think I was given this ... skill, curse, whatever it might be... for a reason."

Boromir nodded again, allowing them to lapse into silence for a time. Finally, he asked, "And none of them gave you a name? Not the old woman, not the boy, no one?"

She shook her head. "No. No one felt the need to call me by name, and the boy was too sick to."

"And you didn't make one? Didn't you want something to define yourself?"

She shrugged yet again. "I don't need one here, and I do not think of myself in the third person, so-"

"But don't you want to be able to to say 'I am somebody'? You've put a name to all those plants, why not to yourself?" He insisted.

She mulled this over, as if she had never really thought about it herself. "Well," she began, "I suppose because I didn't want to give myself the wrong one."

He laughed, and the girl looked up in surprise. "There is no wrong one!" He told her, "You are exactly who you say you are!"

Slowly, she shook her head. "I do not know. I will not need a name here, and-"

"No, it simply will not do. If you will not give yourself a name, then I will give one to you." He looked to her, and slowly she nodded.

"I should think you would choose a better one than I." she told him, twisting a strand of her hair tightly.

He nodded, realizing she probably hadn't heard any names at all for the last five years. "Well then. I think you are... Omana."

"Omana." She repeated, pronouncing it slowly and precisely, as if to see how it fit.

"It means giver of life in an ancient language, long forgotten by most." He told her, and she slowly nodded, smiling.

"Yes." she told him. "I think I am Omana." And, in her eyes, he could see that there was a sudden sense of security. The nameless, suddenly named.

* * *

"Omana." The word seemed to roll off her tongue, graceful like elvish.

"It means giver of life in an ancient language, long forgotten by most." Boromir's eyes were lit with hope as he looked at her, and she felt a strange sensation in her chest, one she had never felt before. She realized that this was what it was like to have someone care, to have someone actually worried about what you thought of what they said.

"Yes. I think I am Omana." She whispered, feeling as if something had clicked into place. There was now a label to all the things that went on in her head, a label to this body that she inhabited, a label for the person she was. _Omana._ Her lips pulled into a smile.

"I think you are too." Boromir said to her, smiling back.

"Omana..." Feeling very pleased, she settled comfortably against the tree, the sense of wholeness almost overwhelming. "It is lovely. Thank you, Boromir. May I call you such, without your title?"

"I think it acceptable." He said, a smile in his voice.

She nodded her thanks, before saying, "Well, I have told my story - now you must tell yours."

He shook his head slightly. "It will not be nearly as exciting as yours."

"You promised!" She chided. "We made a deal, now you must hold up your end of the bargain!"

He laughed, holding up a placating hand. "All right,all right! But do not blame me when it involves no magic on my part."

"Oh, but it will involve a battle, won't it?" she said, crossing her legs and leaning forward attentively. "That seems mighty exciting to me! Magic is boring. I want to hear about an adventure!"

"Indeed, it was quite an adventure." He looked towards the treetops. "I suppose it started when my father, the Steward of Gondor, heard that Sauron's ring had been found, and that it had been brought to Rivendel. I was sent to see that it came to Gondor, but that is not quite what happened." His smile became sad. "It should never go to Gondor." Snapping out of his reverie, he looked back to her. "Instead, it was decided that the ring must be destroyed, thrown into the fires of Mount Doom, and that, of all people, a tiny halfling would carry this great burden. Accompanying was a band of friends and guardians - a wizard, an elf, a dwarf, three more hobbits, and two men, one of whom was me. We set out on our journey, not knowing how very strong the enemies we would face were. To get to Mordor, where Mount Doom stands, we had to get through the mountains, but we could not get over them, and so we had to go under them, through the old dwarf kingdom of the Mines or Moria. However, no longer was it a kingdom - every one of the dwarves had been slain by the goblins that had taken up residence. It was here that our wizard was taken from us, by a creature of shadow and fire called a Balrog. We fled to the land of the elves, who somewhat reluctantly let us in. They replenished our supplies, even giving us boats to try to outrun our enemies. Unfortunately, our enemies were faster than we thought. These were no orcs who pursued us, but a new breed of creature we had never seen before. They were stronger, faster, and more vicious than orcs, and more terrifying. Blissfully unaware of them, we camped upon the shore, waiting for the night to fall before crossing the river. And this was where my fate was decided." Omana watched as he visibly closed off, seeming to sink slightly into himself.

"It's okay." She told him, "You can tell me."

He rubbed his hand over the stubble growing on his chin. "You will think less highly of me."

She shifted to face him, all excitement at the tale fading as she realized that this was what had bound him so tightly to this world. "I have been thrown out to die by the people who raised me, and yet you, a total stranger, have already given me that which they could not. There is little that could make me think less highly of you."

Though Boromir did not look very convinced, she saw the shift in his eyes that told her he would speak. "The ring, it is very powerful. It is a weapon that could destroy whole armies, and yet is much more dangerous to the user than the opponent. The allure of it's power was so great, and I thought... why not keep it? It wormed it's way into my mind, and I was too weak to fight it." She watched with surprise as he turned his face away, as if to hide tears. "I tried to take it from the one who carried it. I would have - I would have killed him for it. He barely escaped with his life, I still do not know how. Only that I am grateful that he did. Had I acquired it, the world would most likely have fallen to Sauron already." His voice had faded to a whisper as he spoke, and Omana, not having interacted with humans for five years, did not know what to do.

"Few could have done better." She tried, but her words were quickly thrown back at her.

"Eight others did." His hands rubbed his face again, his own nervous motion. "Eight others did, where I could not."

Realizing that following up this train of thought would only make things worse, Omana tried a different tactic. "Well, what happened then?"

"What?"

"After that happened, what did you do? Obviously he didn't shoot you. Who did?"

Boromir's eyes narrowed, as if he was struggling to regain his previous train of thought. "Ah, yes. Well, the new race of monsters I spoke of, they attacked soon after that. Two of the hobbits were caught in the fray, and I strove to save them. I fought off many of them, but one, their leader, had brought a crossbow. There was little I could do as I fought to save their lives. I took the first arrow, and kept fighting, and the second. It was only when the thrid struck home that I fell. I watched, helplessly, as the Hobbits were carried off, to I know not where. And then, their leader came, with his crossbow in hand, prepared to strike me down. But, the other man in our fellowship, by the name or Aragorn, slew him before he could. Though I was dying still, it gave me enough time to tell him what had happened. And to say some things that needed to be said." Even as he finished his story, she could see that he was decidedly malcontent. "I remember nothing more."

They sat in the gloomy silence, neither of them sure what to say, but knowing that something needed to be said. Finally, Omana spoke up, trying yet another way of approaching the topic.

"Boromir," she started, "am I a monster?"

"What?" he exclaimed, "No! How could you say that?"

"Do I not go to the realm of the dead?" she asked, "Do I not become a creature who seems to drag the light away from the sun?"

"But you return life to those who have died!" he countered, "To those who deserve life!"

"Indeed." she said, locking his eyes to hers, "So if I am not a monster, how could you be one?"

"Because I was corrupted by the power of the ring!" he snapped, "Becuase I tried to kill for it!"

"But you did not kill him - you instead gave everything you had to save your friends, including your own life!" she snapped. "Have you never heard the phrase 'no harm no foul'?"

"I do not believe it applies here!" Boromir retorted.

"Boromir," she said softly, her tone changing from chastising to soothing, "Do you not believe your friends would forgive you for your transgression?"

Boromir sighed, slumping against the tree again. "I do not know."

Omana studied this man, who was weighted with regret for these things he had done. This man, who appeared to believe that, if not for him, there would be no evil in the world. And, seeing that he could never truly free himself of these things on his own, or if he could he never would, saw the need for her to take action. "Then ask them." Boromir looked up from the stone he had been determinedly studying. "As soon as you are well enough to travel, go find them and ask them for forgiveness. You will not be at peace until you do."

Boromir ran his hand through his hair again. "You say it like it is simple."

Omana shook her head. "It is anything but simple. But I do believe that it is necessary."

* * *

**Please review! Don't care if it's two words, or if it's constructive criticism! Just please give me some feedback!**

**I also would like to hope the next chapter will be better than this one, because this one basically justa explains what all is going on here. So... yeah. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you so so much to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed! I really appreciate it, tons. Special thanks to my reviewers FranzF and KristalikaDragonfly. **

**Also, past Gondor, I honestly have no idea where this one's plot is going. So, if you have ideas, please let me know!**

* * *

Boromir's use of the word 'petit' to describe Omana quickly changed to the word 'malnourished' in his mind. She ate hardly anything at all, giving almost all of the food to him. He would try to insist that she have at least half, but when he did she would leave the majority of her portion uneaten, going off to do whatever it was she was doing that day. Slowly, meat had been making its way back into their diet, ("As the feeling of death left the area", Omana explained) which Boromir hoped would help to keep the girl healthy.

Despite how eagerly she had taken the name, she still had trouble responding to it. He would often call her name several times before she would look over, if she did so at all. On those occasions when she wouldn't look up, he would take a small pebble, flicking it over to plop lightly against her back, so she would look over, before he would repeat her name again. Each time, she would smile tiredly and nod acknowledgement of her slip, before allowing him to say whatever he had been wishing to. The idea that this girl had been so dehumanized by her circumstances made Boromir slightly nauseous to think about. _She hadn't even had a name..._

"Boromir!" came Omana's call from a distance, and he rolled up onto an elbow, though she refused to let him stand yet. "How far is Gondor from here?"

"At least a week's journey, on foot." He replied, picturing a map in his head.

He heard her murmur something, and though he could not make out individual words, he could hear the tone of worry in her voice. As her voice came clearer, he could hear her softly adding up numbers, labeling them every once in a while with words he did not recognize. As she arrived in the clearing, he could see that in her arms she carried a large bag made of skins, through which she was rummaging while she counted. She continued her muttering as she came to sit beside him, and he peered over the top of the bag to see it's contents.

"I may have to continue searching for more food for a while, but there should be enough to get by on when you are well enough to leave." she told him as he glimpsed several packets made of leaves stacked upon each other. "I will try to catch some large game today. Then, there will be more than enough, and there will even be some left over when you depart."

"When _I _depart?" Boromir said quickly, catching the phrase. "Are you not coming with me?"

She looked up with surprise. "Well, no."

"Why not?" he asked, shuffling to sit up while she protested, "Why would you want to stay here?"

Her ever-present shrug returned. "It is where I live."

"All alone?" he asked, "Are you not lonely?"

"Yes," she said, "But it does not matter."

"It does matter!" he insisted, "Come with me!"

"There are not enough supplies." she offered.

"We can wait." he insisted, "And you eat nigh on nothing anyways."

"And what of when we do arrive?" she asked softly, her voice sounding dangerous, "I will be cast away again. Accompanying you will only bring more pain."

"Gondor is not like the towns in the mountains; you will be seen as an asset!"

"But I still will not be seen as a human!" she snarled, throwing the packet she was holding into her pack so hard that it split, it's contents scattering into the bottom. "I will be seen like a horse; useful, and yet still a beast, with no sentience. A creature with no feelings, to be used as a tool." Her hair fell across her face like a curtain, letting her flee slightly from the confrontation.

Boromir watched her for a moment, waiting for her to calm slightly, before saying, "Have you ever heard of the Rohirrim?"

Through her hair, he could see her eyes swivel to him. "No."

Though her voice did not sound inviting, Bormir persisted. "They are of the race of man, and yet they are very different from the men of Gondor. They are known as horse lords, as for every man it seems there is at least one horse, if not more." As he spoke, he gauged each reaction, placing his words carefully when she appeared to be becoming more distressed, "They love their horses; for many they are as dear to them as their own family. I do not doubt that they feel that their horses have a mind of their own, and perhaps even that their horse is keener than many of their friends." He could see she was listening, and so he continued on, "But those who have never met a horse, or do not know what a horse is, they would not have this same affection for a horse, if presented with one. In fact, the latter might very well be terrified of this large animal that, though it obviously has more power than a human being, they know not how it would use this power. And, through their fear of it, they would likely shun it, run from it, and keep it at a distance. And yet..." he brushed her hair aside so that he could make proper eye contact with her, "There would still be the Rohirrim out there somewhere, ready to care for the horse, though the horse might not know it."

For a long moment, there was complete silence in the cove - even the birds stopped singing, and even the rushing of the river seemed to be muffled. Slowly, Omana let out a shaky breath, and Boromir realized with shock that she was fighting back tears. "I... I will think on it." she whispered, eyes fixed firmly on her boots.

"Thank you." He placed a hand tentatively on her shoulder, "I would appreciate your company." Mutely, she nodded her acknowledgment of his words, though she did not look as if she totally agreed or believed him. Encouraged by the fact she had not drawn away from his touch, he pulled her into a gentle side hug, like he had his brother when they had been younger, and their father had been particularly awful to Faramir. Omana was shivering slightly, despite the warmth of the ever-present fire, and despite her efforts, tears were running down her cheeks one by one. She was quick to dash them away with her hand, despite the fact that there were more on their way. Boromir steadfastly ignored them, letting her know he was there through the gentle contact he maintained. Slowly, her body loosened, the tears stopped, and Boromir realized that she had fallen asleep. He wiped away a lingering tear, and gently laid her down. Deciding she couldn't chide him if she didn't know, he rolled onto his hands and knees, crawling to put more logs on the fire, before returning to lie down a few paces away from her.

* * *

Omana struggled to shift the log, which was much heavier than she was. She had wedged several branches beneath it on one side, and yet it still refused to roll. Annoyed, she gave the log a hefty kick, which she instantly regretted. She sat down on it, unlacing her ratty boot and pulling it off to examine her big toe. It didn't appear to be broken, but it was going to be sore. Scowling at her own stupidity, she stood and threw herself at the log with new ferocity. It began to roll over, and she quickly stuffed a stone the size of her fist beneath it with her foot, catching it at this halfway point incase it tried to fall back. However, she managed to get it over in one go, sending it rolling into the lake with a splash.

She had been looking for days for a log to turn into a boat to get across the lake with. Wether she was going with Boromir or not, a boat would be required unless he/they wanted their food to spoil. And, if she wanted to work on it while still being able to keep an eye on her patient, she was going to have to get the log over there. In fact, the log had been part of a thick trunked tree which had fallen, and she had spent many of the last days hacking through it to get the proper length of wood.

Wading into the numbing water, she began to push her prize through the water. Upon her arrival at her cove, she shoved the log up as far as it would go on the shore, before staggering out and wringing herself as best she could. Boromir, who she had finally allowed to stand ("Only when I'm around to catch you if you fall!"), did so and started over, offering her a hand, which she gratefully accepted. With two people's strength, the log was more than manageable, and they managed to roll it up by the fire.

"What's this?" Boromir asked, gesturing broadly to her log. "A bit large for firewood."

"Indeed," she said with a smile, "This would be a boat. Or at least, it will be." She walked over to what appeared to be a random collection of stones, sifting through them until she found the ones she was looking for. She came back over, sitting cross-legged with her back to the fire, resting one of the stones, which was long and triangular, on the wood, and the other, which was simply large and elliptical, on top of it. She proceeded to hit one against the other, creating a sharp _crack, _and the triangular stone was driven on an angle into the wood. She repeated the action several times as Boromir watched with interest. Then, when the stone had been embedded perhaps halfway, she leaned all her weight onto the top side of the stone, using it as a lever. A slat of wood the size of her palm popped off, coming to rest beside her in the sand. She grabbed it and tossed it carelessly into the fire, where it lit quickly. "Slow going, but it will have to do."

"Would you like help?" Boromir offered, and she looked about.

"If you can find another stone like this one, I would welcome your assistance. If," she added, "You promise not to hurt yourself."

Soon, they were together hacking away at the massive log, trying to make the center hollowed out. With two working, it was, of course, twice as fast, but even at that doubled pace it was clear this would be a many day task. About halfway through their day, Boromir look up and cautiously said, "And just how big are we making this boat?"

She hesitated mid stroke, not looking up. She had been at war with herself for the last week, contemplating the semi-argument of that night. Part of her desperately wanted to go, wanted to see the world, and find people who, even if they weren't like her, would accept her, and care for her. Deprived of a childhood, of friends and family, she longed to search for them in this wide world much larger than she had imagined. And yet, the other part of her screamed at her that it was futile, that she could never fit in. She would be rejected again, and accompanying him was simply opening up an opportunity for her to be even more damaged than she currently was. She would end up returning, leaving for nothing. And here, he was forcing her to choose. She blinked slowly, once, twice, three times.

"At least this big." she said, tracing out a space that would clearly fit two people and their packs. Though she did not look up to see it, she could feel his smile.

"I am glad." he told her softly.

With a small chuckle, she replied, "It remains to be seem if I will be."

* * *

**So, do you like this 'one from his perspective, one from hers' thing? I hope it works all right.**

**And, have no fear, we will soon be leaving this boring island where all they do is talk, and moving on to the real world :)**

**I love reviews, they make me feel all fuzzy inside :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:Hiya guys! Thanks for reading, etc.! Especially to my repeat reviewers, FranzF and KristalikaDragonfly - I really appreciate it! Your feedback is really encouraging. For all you who aren't reviewing, I really do value your opinions and feedback as well, even if it's not positive. So, please please review!**

**sorry, I just can't bore you any more with the island, and the full extent of the traveling will drive me insane, even if it doesn't drive you insane. So... yeah. To Gondor we will go! Oh, and please tell me if Boromir is too OOC in the third part. I am trying to capture him in a somewhat carefree environment, with a good friend. It may or may not have worked, so please let me know.**

**Ah, this might be a good time to note that this is Movie-verse, so it's the Cannon of Tolkien, as far as it was depicted by Peter Jackson. Just for reference in this chapter. If anyone cares... which you probably don't...**

* * *

"No no, no." Omana insisted as Boromir began to leap into the boat, expecting her to follow. Halting the motion a moment too late, his shin smacked painfully against the crudely carved boat.

Cursing softly, he turned back to her, annoyed. "What?"

"We will not be going anywhere until I am sure you are not going to tear your heart back apart." she insisted, pulling him back up onto the shore, along with the now considerably lighter boat.

"How can I prove to you that I am feeling better?" he queried desperately, throwing his arms wide. "Really, I am well!" As indeed he was. His injuries were mere twinges of pain now, and even those came only rarely. He no longer feared to use his arms or bend over, and felt as strong as ever.

She tugged him down so that she was sitting beside him. "You are well on the outside - it is the inside I am worried about." She gently tugged at his shirt, so that she could examine what had once been a hole in his chest, but was now an awful looking scab. Making a noise with her tongue, she stepped back. "I am going to have to look at your heart, to be sure it is healed properly."

"But how?" he asked, fearing he might know.

She crossed her legs, placing her hands in her lap. "Your essence flows and ebbs differently in different parts of your body, allowing me to see your individual organs. It will only take a moment, and then we can depart." She shut her eyes.

"Are you going to look like..." Boromir trailed off as his question was answered before his eyes. Her features seemed to blur and morph slightly, all her colors fading out as if night were falling over her alone. It took less than a minute for her body to appear to be completely black, a black so dark it seemed to radiate an anti-glow. As he watched, all the birds took to the air, fleeing as if the forest was ridden with monsters; all the animals in the area fled with shocking speed, foxes running beside rabbits unnoticed in their panic. And indeed, Boromir too could feel a primal terror in his heart, that yelled for him to run, to flee this inhuman creature. He shut his eyes, forcing his breath to come deep and slow, repeatedly telling himself that it was not a monster, it was Omana. But, when he opened his eyes to see a hand reaching out towards his chest, he could not help himself; letting out a small cry of fright he skittered back several inches, before coming to a standstill. He saw her hand hesitate, and could almost feel her eyes on his, full of hurt. Grimacing, he forced himself forward, back towards her reaching hand. Her hand came closer, closer, until it finally came up against his skin, before passing through it. He gasped as her fingers slipped into his chest, physically trembling from the adrenaline that now raced through his body. Every muscle was tense, begging to run, to flee like the animals had. Instead, he dug his nails into the ground, finding something physical to remind him that the fright was unwarranted, and unneeded.

He did not watch as he felt a slight twinge in his torso, as she removed her hand, or as she changed slowly back into the human girl he knew. He only looked up when he could once again hear her breathing, sure at that point that she was once again herself. She was watching him, silent and apparently apathetic, though he knew she was not. He knew she could see the fear in his eyes, but he hoped that she could also see the trust, and the friendship.

"You will be fine now." she told him, running her hand up and down her pant leg. "There was a chance of a blockage in one of your arteries, but no more."

Not sure what an artery was, exactly, he simply nodded, hoping that his thanks was apparent. He as yet did not trust himself to speak. He unsteadily gained his feet, offering her a hand to help her stand. She ignored it, rising on her own and proceeding to the boat. Boromir sighed. She didn't understand that he had tried his hardest. Or, if she did, she needed some time to get over it. He could understand that, he supposed. He would be hurt too if the only person he'd ever trusted recoiled from his touch.

* * *

Omana spoke to him for the first time in five days when Boromir suddenly gasped, leaning against a tree.

"What is wrong?" she demanded, "Is it your heart?" She brought to mind what she had seen in the Middle Realm - his heart had looked perfectly healthy after she had removed the almost-blockage. There should not have been anything that could be ailing him.

"Yes," he replied, and a bolt of fear and worry raced through her, only to be somewhat relieved as he continued, "But not as you think."

"Then what?" she asked, "Tell me!"

His face looked suddenly very tired and sad, and yet overjoyed at the same time. "He has done it." he whispered, brushing his hair from his face as he looked to the east.

"Who has done what?" Omana virtually shrieked, frustrated that she couldn't understand what he was trying to tell her.

"Frodo." He was smiling now, though the emotions of before remained. "He has destroyed the ring. The world is finally free." Trying to shrug his non-existant shield up higher on his shoulder, he shoved himself off of the tree, once again beginning to walk.

"How do you know?" she called up to him, hurrying to catch up.

"Because I can feel it." came his answer, making her roll her eyes with annoyance.

"But _how?_" she insisted.

Looking over his shoulder so he could see her, he replied, "Because, no longer do I wish I had overwhelmed the halfling and taken it for my own, in the deep recesses of my mind." He looked forward once more, squinting into the light of the sun. "Now, I only feel those feelings which are truly mine."

Unsure quite what to make of all this, Omana followed in silence, cursing his tendency to never say the whole truth at once. Though, had one been able to hear them, they would have sounded fairly half hearted.

* * *

Omana gaped as Boromir pointed out Minas Tirith in the distance. "That whole thing is a city?" Even from a distance, it looked immense. "Impossible."

Boromir laughed, and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye to judge whether the laugh was mocking or not. "Nay, not impossible, for I have lived there all my life!"_ Amused, not mocking,_ she decided, turning to gawk some more at the structure in the distance.

"It looks more like a mountain than a city." she told him, and he laughed again.

"Little do you know that there are in fact cities that take up entire mountains."

Omana shook her head. "I don't believe you."

"But I tell you the truth!" he laughed again.

"I would be willing to bet that you are trying to trick me." she said with a good natured shove that sent him staggering a jokingly long distance.

"Oh, I am hurt that you would think thus!" he cried melodramatically, as might an older sibling. "That a maiden so fair should have words so sharp with which to pierce my heart!"

She gave him a playfully sour look, before saying, "I still do not believe you."

"You said you would bet," Boromir pointed out, "If you are so sure that I am lying, why do we not bet?"

"What have I that you could want?" Omana asked, genuinely curious as to what his answer might be. She had absolutely nothing, and he had everything (or at least, he would once he proved he wasn't dead). What could he want from _her_.

Boromir thought about it for a moment, the only noise the sound of their footsteps swishing through the grass. Then, looking slyly over at her, he said, "If I win, you must wear a dress for an entire day."

Omana laughed, though inside she was thinking that perhaps this bet was a little riskier than she'd thought. "Fine, though I do not see why you would ask for such."

"Becuase I should like to see you stumbling around in one of those ridiculous things." He informed her. "For once see you out of your element."

Her thoughts turned a shade of grey for a moment at his words. "Have no fear," she murmured, "You shall see me out of my element soon enough." When she looked up, he was giving her a quizzical look, and so she shook the thoughts away. "Alright. You have your side of the deal. And what of if I should win?"

"We need not discus this, as you are going to lose anyways." Boromir dismissed, earning him another hearty shove.

"No! If I win, I want..." _What do I want?_ she asked herself, running her hand through her hair. A family came to her mind, amongst other things, but she was well aware that this is not in his power to give. "I want..." _A childhood? A friend? A release from this curse of a blessing?_ "A horse." she finally settled upon, looking up at him.

Boromir looked at her, she supposed trying to see the double meaning of her words. Apparently deciding what she meant, he slowly nodded. "But do you know how to ride and care for a horse?"

She shook her head, "I would need someone to teach me."

Again, Boromir nodded. "Alright. It is a bet. Though," he leaned in conspiratorially at this point, "I would also be willing to bet that, even when you lose, you will get a horse."

She smiled at him, giving him another light shove, though in reality, his words sent relief coursing through her.

* * *

Boromir's stomach twisted as he approached his beloved home. He was, of course, excited to return, to see his brother and father, and to once again be in a familiar setting. But, he had no idea how his return would be received. Would people be afraid, having already heard of his death, and yet seeing him living? Would he be cast out as a fake, forced to live away from his people? And Aragorn, if he had already returned - how would he think of the man who almost doomed their quest to failure? What of his father? His brother?

"Boromir, we are almost to the gate." Omana's voice seemed to come from a distance. "I do not know how to get in."

"You simply walk, and unless you look suspicious, the guards will not stop you." He told her, still distracted by his dark thoughts.

After a moment's pause, Omana said again, "Boromir?"

"Yes?" he replied, forcing himself to truly pay attention to her words.

"Are you worried?"

"Would you not be?" he asked her.

She conceded with a nod, before saying, "Just remember, that for better or for worse, it will soon be over." She gave him a smile. "True of most things, actually." Boromir reflected on the truth of her words as, seemingly in no time at all, they arrived at the gates and passed through without incident. Indeed, even as they walked through the lowest level of the city, they were not stopped, for there was no one there - the city seemed utterly deserted, save the docile animals who were always free on the streets. Not only that, but pieces of the city appeared to have been entirely demolished, left as rubble. Yet, there was still some reassurance to be had, as there were no bodies lining the street - there were yet people who cared for his city.

"It seems the success of Frodo's quest did not come without a price." Boromir commented quietly, looking around with much the same eyes as Omana as they climbed up through the levels of the city. "I would have hoped you could see my home as I remember it, not as... this."

"Where are all the people?" the girl asked, peering in the window of a shop, and being forced to hurry to catch up.

"I know not." Boromir replied, before stopping abruptly as a great multitude seemed to let out a cheer from above them. A mix of excitement and worry filled Boromir's mind, and he lengthened his strides, forcing Omana to jog to stay with him.

"Wait, Boromir! What was that?" she called, now a few feet behind."

"I know not!" Boromir repeated, starting to jog himself as another cheer rose up, his hopes raised by the fact that they sounded like human voices, not orcs.

As they reached the second highest tier of the city, Omana was full-out running to keep up, breath coming in ragged gasps. "Slow down!" she begged, staggering to a halt behind him. "I cannot-"

She was cut off by another roar of voices, much closer now, and the sound of hundred, or maybe thousands of feet pounding upon the stone cobbles of the city. Moments later, the multitude they had heard appeared to be streaming down from the next level, pounding through the streets while laughing and shouting. Boromir was cast off to one side of the road, pressed against a wall by the river of people. As they rushed past, he searched vainly for Omana, but it seemed that she had been washed away in the chaos. Uncertain if he would ever be able to find her in all these people - indeed, unsure if she would stay after this - he waited for the flurry of motion to subside.

It took a good fifteen minutes for the people to pass. From his high vantage point, he could see the people continuing to storm by below, starting to set up for... something. Clearly, something momentous had happened, though what it might be Boromir couldn't guess. Surely the news of the ring being destroyed had reached Gondor weeks ago, and, if Boromir's suspicions were correct, it might even create more malcontent than joy.

More curious than ever, Boromir softly called for Omana. When a shadow appeared to detach its self from the wall, and start across the road towards him, he reigned in his terror, and found he could do so with considerably more ease the second (or was it the third?) time. When she reached him, she looked normal once again.

"There's that many people in the city?" she whispered, eyes wide.

Boromir nodded with a grin. "Indeed, I have seen it contain more, when there was peace instead of war."

Omana paled. "I am no longer certain I can accompany you."

"Nonsense!" Boromir proclaimed. "You will be fine. And have no fear, people are usually no quite so grouped together as this."

"Why were they thus now?" she asked, peering suspiciously down at the ant sized people below.

"Why do we not find out?" Boromir replied, saying it as much to himself as to Omana. As they started up the stairs to the dias, the Gondorian could feel the knot of worry in his stomach tighten once again, unsure of just what he was going to find when they got there.

What he ended up finding would not have been his first guess. There, under the Tree of the King, amongst others that Bormir could not name, stood the Fellowship. Under the the tree, Aragorn stood, with the most lovely Elven maid Boromir had ever seen(who Boromir noted bore a stunning resemblance to Lord Elrond, who stood off to one side). As Boromir watched, Aragorn took the elf's hand and slipped a ring onto her finger, before pulling her into a kiss. All who watched were smiling, though Boromir noted that Elrond's smile seemed somewhat aggrieved. Smiling as well, Boromir approached the scene slowly, not wanting to disturb it.

Aragorn and the maid separated, turning to look in to the small crowd. For the first time, Boromir could clearly see the crowns that adorned both Aragorn and his wife's hair. _So he has already been crowned, _Boromir thought, unsure how he felt about the matter, _Perhaps this is what all that hubbub was about._

Boromir began to advance again, then stopped, deciding that they would notice when they would notice, and he need not speed the process. As it turned out, he did not have long to wait. As Aragorn looked upon the faces of his friends, he skimmed over them, and then looked beyond to catch sight Boromir. Instantly, his joy filled eyes glazed with shock and disbelief, the smile dropping from his face. Boromir became slightly nauseous as he felt the incident drawing near to it's climax._ For better or for worse..._ he reminded himself, as the others in the party followed the king's gaze.

After a long moment in which the only sound came from below, Aragorn spoke. "Surely my eyes deceive me, for the man I see before me has been dead for nigh on a month or more!"

"They deceive you not," Boromir replied with a nervous laugh. "It is I, Boromir, son of Denethor. I present my self before you." Realizing that, in his nervousness and haste, he was being improper, he hastily knelt and dropped his eyes. "My king."

There was a very, _very _long moment in which no one spoke, moved, or indeed seemed to breathe. Then, the soft scuff of leather boots on stone, and more silence. A wordless hand appeared in front of Boromir's face, and after a moment of confusion, he hesitantly took it, unsure if he correctly assumed it's intent. He was pulled to his feet, and his eyes were met by Aragorns', Boromir's own emotion making it impossible for him to read those of the other. His eyes quickly flicked away, and thus he was surprized when his friend wrapped him suddenly in an embrace. Boromir did not even have time to return the gesture before the other had pulled away and was holding him at arms length, his wondering eyes still peering at his face over a wondering smile.

"I should ask you for your story, were I not so overwhelmed with the joy of seeing you here!" Aragorn said, clapping Boromir on the shoulder.

The relief that flooded Boromir at this reaction made it hard for him to speak. "Tis not my story to tell. It is..." He trailed off as, looking over his shoulder, her found that Omana was missing. "Tis another's."

"And we cannot wait to hear it." Aragorn replied, looking past Boromir to try and see whom Boromir sought.

The Gondorian opened his mouth to say more, but broke off, as his gaze caught that of another's. His eyes filled with tears of affection and sorrow and fear, and struggled to swallow past whatever was suddenly blocking his throat.

"Brother." He whispered, as Faramir stepped forward out of the crowd.

* * *

Faramir, at first, refused to believe it. Not out of any spite, or ill wishes towards his brother, but because he feared being wounded yet again. When news of his brother's death had reached Faramir, it was like his very being had fractured, a long crack forming in his existence. Boromir had _always_ been there, being the eldest of the two, be it through joy or hardship. And suddenly, he had been torn away, severed as surely as if it had been with a knife. The pain had been crushing, but Faramir had been forced to continue, hiding his grief under his drive to preserve his city.

Even his father had not helped him through his grief; indeed, he had driven the dagger deeper, by wishing for his remaining son's death, though he had used words that sounded more pleasant to the ear. Holding almost no value to his life, Faramir had done his father's bidding, and rode to what he thought would be his death at Osgiliath. And, when he had finally woken after being shot down, he had done so just in time to witness his father's suicide, completely tearing away the part of Faramir that had been his family, however dysfunctional it may have been.

And yet; here stood his dead brother, looking as well as ever before. Faramir struggled to accept it - he questioned whether he perhaps still dreamed. But nay, he could feel the sun and the wind upon his skin, and smell the flowers blooming on the Tree of the King; t'was not a dream.

There was something different about his brother, however. As Faramir watched him approach the King, he saw something there that he had never seen before: doubt. Boromir had always been certain of everything he said an did, to the point that he could be stubborn. Yet, as Faramir watched, his brother seemed to waver, hesitate. The appearance had faded slightly when the King had welcomed him home with open arms, quite literally. But, as Boromir caught sight of his brother, Faramir could see the uncertainty again, an out of place emotion on his brother's confident face.

"Brother," Boromir whispered, pulling away from the king in a way that, in any other situation, would have been highly disrespectful. As Faramir watched, he could see other differences as well. He was gaunt, as if he had lost many stones of weight, and he was extremely careful as he walked, as if fearing to aggravate a wound. But, more than anything, Boromir just seemed... wiser, perhaps was the word. As if he had seen more in the last months than in the entire rest of his life, and had learned much from it.

Faramir stepped away from Éowyn, who had been silently supporting him throughout the event, though she could not understand what was taking place to it's full extent. He walked slowly, for he did not trust his legs to hold him if he advanced any faster. His brother, too, advanced, but stopped after a couple of steps, that uncharacteristic, _unnatural_ hesitation seemingly omnipresent, forcing Faramir to make up the remaining distance.

Eventually, the stood only feet apart, their matching hazel eyes staring into one another's. Faramir, choking on his words, finally spoke, saying, "Damn me for a fool if I didn't die with you that day!" Then, he too embraced Boromir, but did not let go. "Do not dare leave me again!" The words were a mere whisper, as he could not bring his voice to be any louder, had he even wanted to.

Boromir, given more time than the last, returned the embrace, his still strong arms making it even harder for Faramir to breathe. "I am sorry, so sorry. For everything." He pulled back slightly, and to Faramir's astonishment, there were tears trailing down his cheeks. "Know that, as the light faded from my eyes, I thought of you, little brother."

"And what did you think?" Faramir knew what his father would have said; he hoped Boromir's answer would be different.

It was. "That Minas Tirith could not have a better keeper."

And it was then that Faramir felt tears spring to his eyes as well.

* * *

When he stepped away, Boromir quickly dashed away the tears of relief and joy that were welling in his eyes, all thoughts of Omana having evaporated. Slowly, he could feel his confidence of being accepted growing. And so, it was with more boldness that he held out his hand to Legolas and Gimli in turn, both of whom accepted it with grins and kind words. He briefly acknowledged the other, non-fellowship nobility in attendance, before catching sight og the hobbits, who had been half hidden behind the taller folk. Merry and Pipping came forward with broad smiles, and Boromir felt a rush of joy as he realized that he had not died for naught. He crouched slightly to give them gentle embraces, before standing, and turning to the two people who remained.

All his worry from before bubbled up afresh at the sight of Frodo and Sam, that latter standing protectively half-infront of the former, both of the watching him warily.

"It's gone, Boromir." Frodo said without preamble, "I destroyed it."

"I know you did." Boromir replied, kneeling down the look at him eye to eye. "Proving once again how much stronger you are than I." He struggled to find the right words for what he was feeling, and thinking. "Frodo I am... sorry is the only word that can come even vaguely close to the amount of repentance I feel. I will not make any excuses for my actions, for though the ring did influence me, it was purely my own self that it brought to the fore. I was not strong enough to rein in my lust for power, and almost stole that which I swore to protect. I endangered your life, the lives of the others in the fellowship, and the lives of all the people of Middle Earth. I cannot expect your forgiveness, and yet I beg for it still."

_Are there always this many long, silent pauses during reunions? _Boromir thought as yet another one hung in the air. When Frodo did speak, his tone was much gentler than before.

"You are not a bad man, Boromir." Shocked by such a reaction, Boromir fought to keep his jaw from dropping. "We all have that darkness inside of us. It was simply due to circumstance that you were the first to succumb to it. If not you, it would have been someone else." His face bore a sad smile. "And who knows? Perhaps, had you not acted as you did, I would not have fled in time, and the outcome of our little story would have been very different." He stepped forward, past Sam, and clapped a small hand on Boromir's shoulder. "All is forgiven."

Boromir mirrored the gesture, careful not to knock the Hobbit over with the force of his arm. "Thank you, Frodo. I could not ask for more from you." The small man stepped back again, and Sam stepped forward, still looking slightly apprehensive.

"Well, I s'pose if Mister Frodo says it's alright, then it's alright." He offered Boromir a hand. "It's good to have you back, Mister Boromir sir." The Gondorian gladly took it, finding the halfling's grudging acceptance somewhat amusing. He thanked Sam as well, before standing again.

"Come, let us go." Aragorn said, seeing that Boromir's reception was now complete. "We have stories to tell, and festivities to attend to."

"Wait!" Boromir interjected as the group began to move away, remembering Omana in a rush. "Wait. There is someone I must find now, or I never shall. It is to her that my story belongs." He saw them all pause, their curiosity piqued. He only hoped that he hadn't left entirely. "Omana? Omana, where have you gone and hidden yourself?"

* * *

"Where have you gone and hidden yourself?"

Omana shrank further back behind the wall where she was concealed. From around it, she had watched the proceedings, with mixed emotions. At first, she had been nervous right along with Boromir, not only because, if he was rejected, she would be too, and he travels would have been for naught, but also because he was her first real friend, and she was worried for him in a way that was strange to her, alien. She had been briefly convinced that the royal man was going to strike Boromir down, but then had watched with amazement as they had, instead, embraced. Though she had been unable to clearly hear the conversation, it had been clear to her that there had repeatedly been high tension, and then a snap back to friendship and - dare she say it? - love. Though she was terribly afraid of the gathering of so many people, she also felt, somewhere deeper than her fear, and instinctive longing for whatever it was the Boromir had with these people, be it friendship, love, or something else.

She had to try multiple times to get her voice to work - the first couple of tries came out as nothing but a squeak. "If I told you, I would not be hidden, would I?"

She heard Boromir's comfortable laughter, accompanied by several others, which she distantly noted were no less friendly.

"There is no need for hiding," Boromir called to her, "No one here shall harm you."

She felt a burst of that longing again, stronger this time, but her mistrust was yet stronger. "I am not dressed for the occasion."

"If you think that I am, you are sorely mistaken!" Boromir retorted merrily, his voice sounding slightly closer now. "Come, join us!"

Omana ran a hand through her hair, feeling all the tangles there. She looked down at her clothes, work worn and dirty with travel. She thought of her island, with all the familiarities of home, or what had been her home, and she knew that she would never find her way back. It was now, or never.

_And never,_ she thought, _is an awfully long time._

After taking a long, deep breath, she slowly stood, making herself visible over the wall. She could now clearly see everyone in the group, instead of seeing them in quick glimpses. Boromir was indeed much closer than the others, having perhaps followed her voice when she spoke. His smile broadened as she saw her, and she gave him a somewhat nervous one in return. She tried not to let herself tremble with fear as she walked forward to stand beside Boromir. He gently placed a hand on her back, guiding her closer to the group. Flashes of memory made her flinch slightly - a stone hurled by an old woman, a blow struck by a farmer, the jeers and screams of other children. The thoughts dragged her feet to a halt, her breathing in slightly ragged gasps. "Boromir," she hissed so that even she could barely hear, "I can not, I, I am afraid." The admission was more than she had intended to reveal, but was also more true.

"These are not people from the mountains," he replied softly, "There are your Rohirrim."

Slowly, her feet ground back into motion. Though her eyes were fixed firmly on the ground, she examined the people she was approaching out of her peripheral vision. The did not _seem_ to have the same expressions on their faces as the mountain folk had. Indeed, their expressions were a mixture of curiosity and welcoming, and leftover joy from their meetings with Boromir.

"May I present," Boromir began, "Omana, of the River. It is to her I owe my life."

_Omana of the River. _She glanced over at Boromir, silently asking him what they title entailed. She skimmed her eyes over the others, then dropped them again. After an awful moment of silence, Boromir leaned down and murmured in her ear, "It is traditional to bow to nobility," just loud enough for the grouping to hear. There was a response of low chuckles from the crowd, and Omana felt herself flush with embarrassment as she executed a deep bow, eyes now locked firmly on her boots. Boromir began introductions, and at each name, she would glance up very briefly, usually only long enough to see them giver her a short, acknowledging nod. However, he stalled when it came to certain of the nobles whom he had never met, namely the Rohirrim royalty and the elves, of whom he knew only Elrond and Legolas. Perhaps sensing that he was stuck, those who had remained nameless introduced themselves.

Despite having the highest rank, the Queen refused to speak until all others had done so. Then, still silent, she took a step towards Omana. Panicking out of habit, Omana took a halting half step back, eyes growing wide. She heard Boromir catch his breath, and realized that what she had done was _highly_ improper. However, the queen simply smiled at her, eyes glowing with kindness and... was that what sympathy looked like? She began to speak, but it was a language that Omana could not understand and, for a moment, she wondered if she could be so afraid as to no longer comprehend language. As the strange speech ended, Omana felt an odd sense of calm steal over her, as if she was once again alone in the woods. _So this is the magic of the elves,_ she thought distantly, knowing that, had her terror not been muted, she would have feared her lack of it.

"Greetings, Omana of the River." He voice was as soothing in the common tongue as in elvish. "I am Arwen Undómiel." She bowed her head slightly in greeting, which Omana responded to in kind.

"My thanks for your magic, my lady." Omana said softly.

"Do not thank me overmuch, for it is not permanent." Arwen replied, "You shall have to learn to trust on your own."

"Even so my lady," Omana realized that she had been staring at the new queen, and dropped her gaze to the ground again, eliciting a soft laugh from the elf, a sound like clear bells chiming. Lowered eyes watched as Arwen's feet glided out of her vision.

Boromir continued where he had left off without skipping a beat. "I would ask that you allow Omana to join us, as she has journeyed far with me, and she has no place to stay, or to return to."

"Um, Boromir..." Omana began, feeling a tinge of nervousness at the idea of dining with royalty, especially in her state.

"Why or course," Arwen answered for everyone, "We would never turn away such a distinctive guest. That is, if she wishes to attend."

_Distinctive guest? _They knew she had raised Boromir from the dead, and still they said _distinctive guest? _What happened to monster, to demon, to beast? Omana looked up at Arwen, who was still watching her with a smile. Very, very slowly, Omana tried her best to smile back.

"Thank you, my lady," She replied carefully, "I think I wish that very much. Very much indeed."

* * *

**A/N: Now, here's where I need you guys to make a decision for me. There are two things I can do at this point.**

**1) I can replace this little message here with 'THE END' and cut the fanfiction off, right here at this ending point, where it's clear that both our main characters are going to have a bright future before them.**

**2) I can replace this little message here with empty space, and continue to write about the adventures of Boromir and Omana in Gondor, taking your requests for things that will happen, while still working my way through a storyline about how Omana and Boromir assisted in the saving of Gondor.**

**I don't want to write more if you guys don't want it, and I don't want to cut it off if you guys want more, so please review and let me know! Either way is fine, as I have plans for either eventuality, so don't feel like you have to say one or the other; honesty's the best policy and all that. **

**Thank you so much!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Alright, well you guys said more, so here is more! I'm sorry if this is not quite up to standard, but it is quite late here, and I'm a bit tired.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it! It encourages me to write faster when I have more reviews! However, if I am to extend this, I am going to need ideas for some character developing interactions. I have backups, but feel free to share any ideas you have!**

* * *

Omana sat awkwardly as Boromir pulled out the heavy oaken chair for her. She was unused to this kind of treatment; indeed, she was fairly unused to any treatment at all. And yet, here she was, sitting at a table with some of the highest nobility in all of Middle Earth, dressed in trousers and a tunic, with her hair awry and her nails still dirtied, while everyone else (excepting Boromir of course, but how much could you expect from a dead man?) was dressed in finery beyond her imagination. Had she fathomed a guess, she would have said that a single article of clothing off anyone there would be worth more than the entirety of the village she had grown up in.

She appeared to be seated almost at the foot of the table, with Boromir seated next to her. Of course, she had expected no more - she knew the customs of putting the most important people closest to the king. Though, she was slightly surprised at Boromir's distance from the end, and she wondered if perhaps he had requested to be seated by her, to help her cope with whatever was to come. The thought left her flushed, joy bubbling in her chest at the thought that some one cared about her. Someone _actually cared! _She wished that the people from the mountains could see her now.

Everyone stood once again as the King and Queen entered the room. They appeared to have changed clothes, and Omana wondered just how many outfits they owned - surely not even they could have more than six or seven sets of clothing? But, in their finery, their arms looped as custom dictated, they looked almost to be other-worldly. _Like angels, _Omana thought, her dark eyes transfixed by their natural beauty. So transfixed was she that it took her a moment to realize that they had found their seats, and they were not at the other end of the table. Instead of the foot of the table, it seemed she had been placed at the head. In the most highly honored spot there was, after where the queen would be sitting.

_But surely not! _she reasoned, _for why should they want to sit by _me?

However, there they were, seating themselves gracefully right beside her. And then everyone was sitting down, and Omana followed quickly, feeling as out of place as a goat in a field of sheep. She had no knowledge of these affairs - surely she was only going to make a fool out of herself! She allowed her hair to cascade across her face, enormously glad that she had allowed it to remain long. Though she knew there were still eyes on her, she felt them less acutely this way.

A batch of servants bustled out and filled the large stone goblets that were at every place setting. As the last of the guests were served, Aragorn took his goblet up in his hand, as everyone mimicked the action, Omana hurrying to do the same. "To Frodo." he proclaimed, and everyone else echoed loudly, each then raising the goblets to their lips to drink, though to Omana's knowledge, Frodo and the other halflings had left earlier to return to their much longed for home. Omana did so as well, taking some of the liquid in her mouth. It was not water, that was for sure, but what it was she could not say. It had a taste like berries that had laid in the snow all winter, but much sweeter, more complex. A quick swallow disposed of it, and she set her cup back down. If things were to proceed at this rate, she knew she would be thoroughly out of her element before long.

Soft chatter started up at this point, mostly just idle comments to neighbors, nothing loud enough to be truly called a conversation. This became slightly louder as the meal was brought out on great silver trays, and placed on the table. Omana's eyes went as round as the platters as the great spread of the feast was revealed. Never had she seen so much food in one place in all her lifetime! There were meats, and breads, and pastries, and stews, and vegetables, and oh! it was wonderful! She dared not touch it, lest is disappear in a puff of smoke, revealing her island again, and waking her from what surely must be a dream. Boromir, seeing her hesitation, took her plate and loaded food onto it, before placing it back in front of her. She looked about again, seeing how everyone was using the silverware on the table so daintily, making even the simple task of eating look graceful. Unsure quite what to do, she picked up two of the implements on the table, holding them awkwardly. Boromir, laughing softly, set down his own and took her hands in his, adjusting her hold on the tools. Then, picking up his own, he carefully cut a piece of meat off for himself to eat. Feeling fairly embarrassed, Omana copied, finding that the blade cut easily through the food, and raised it to her mouth.

And how amazed she was to find it tasted more glorious than anything she had ever had before! She forced herself to chew it slowly, reminding herself that she was in the company of royalty, but oh! How she longed to each it all, right away! It had a mixture of flavors she had never experienced before, as if it were more than meat. "Boromir!" she exclaimed softly, "What is this?"

"It is lamb." he replied, taking a bite.

"But it tastes nothing like any lamb I have ever had!" She replied, taking another bite.

He laughed. "That is because it was made by chefs who have been trained to cook for royalty. This is but their daily fare."

Their conversation and others were interrupted politely by Aragorn clearing his throat, sending the hall into silence. "Boromir, I think we should all very much like to hear your story."

Emphatic nodding responded to his words, along with a couple calls of assent. Boromir smiled, and said, "You shall have to ask Omana, as I do not know the half of it."

The blood drained from her face as Omana realized that all attention had instantly been shifted to her. _Thanks Boromir, _she thought, giving him a look that said much the same.

"Would you be willing to tell us, Omana?" Aragorn asked her gently, his voice kindly.

She gulped, met his eyes, and then nodded slightly, clearing her throat in preparation of speaking.

* * *

Boromir, though he had heard the story once already, listened with just as much interest as last time. Omana told the story with more skill than he had expected, engrossing them in her tale, and then in her description of her abilities, responding without hesitation to all queries presented to her. However, much more to his interest was all the events that had taken place after his death with the members of the fellowship. As their meal progressed, Boromir became more and more astounded at the truly extraordinary luck his companions had had. The chances of their success, in retrospect, had been even small than he had believed. And yet, somehow, here they all sat, alive and well. Or, mostly well - Boromir had found out in the course of the conversation that both Faramir and Éowyn had been seriously injured during the course of the war. As only could be expected, Boromir assumed. His father, still not present, had been pointedly left out of the conversation, and seeing that it might not be quite politic to detract from the story of the others by asking of him, Boromir remained silent on the matter.

Long had the moon been in the sky before the meal was ended, so extensive was the telling of their tales. Weary from traveling, Boromir was very eager to retire to his bed, and he said so in the most gracious manner he could muster.

"Of course, as I am sure we are all weary after such a day." Aragorn replied, standing. Everyone else did so as well, not a few of them looking tired as well. "Omana, we shall find some quarters for you to stay in. Boromir, I believe your quarters remain untouched." The both of them bowed their heads slightly in thanks, as the king bid his good nights and, with Arwen, quit the room. Gradually, people began to exit the room, even Omana being led out by a servant girl of about her own age, who very kindly introduced herself and offered to lead Omana to her room. Boromir, however, simply stayed, looking at the familiar tapestries on the wall, which had become so foreign to him in the months since his departure.

"What troubles you brother?" Faramir's voice, comforting in it's familiarity. "Never have I seen you thus before."

Boromir turned to face his sibling. "Not troubled. Indeed, all my troubles have been relieved. I am merely weary."

"Then come, let us go to your chambers. By rights you should be sleeping already." The pair started down a nearby corridor, walking to their chambers - Faramir's rooms were only slightly further than Boromir's.

"Your trials have been great, brother. You were very brave to act as you did." Boromir looked to Faramir. "I am sorry that father treated you in such a way."

Faramir looked quickly away. "It matters not now."

"Nay, it does matter." Boromir insisted, stopping outside of his door, and grabbing Faramir's shoulder to force him to look at him. "It pains me that I caused you such strife."

Faramir's smile turned twisted and grim. "There was naught you could do."

Boromir shook his head. "Not this time. But other times. Many, many other times." He looked down the hallway, checking to make sure no one else was within hearing range. "Brother, swear to me that the next time he says something such as this, you will tell me. Swear it!"

Faramir's smile twisted even more, to the point that it could be called only a grimace. "I would swear it, brother, but there is no need." To Boromir's shock, his little brother reached up to dash away a tear. "We did not wish to tell you yet, as we wanted to spare you the pain for a while longer, but I feel that at this point, your pain would only be greater." Faramir seemed to gather himself, collecting his thoughts and emotions so that they would not emerge unbidden. "Boromir, father is dead."

Boromir felt as if he had been struck. "What?"

"When I was dragged back from battle, it seems father fell into despair. Believing me dead, and refusing to listen to those who told him otherwise, he prepared a funeral pyre for us, and attempted to set us both alight." Faramir's face had grown deadly serious, lines of horror and grief written across his face. "It was only by the halfling Pippin's bravery and Gandalf's power that I escaped the flames. Father was not so lucky. I woke just in time for him to see I still lived, and to watch him as he ran and threw himself, still aflame, off of the end on the topmost tier of our city."

Boromir, aghast, stared at Faramir with open-mouthed revulsion. When he finally found his voice, he said, "I know not what to say to you, Faramir, for I fear all my words would fall short."

Faramir's lips twitched slightly. "As indeed would all words be. That you recognize this means much." He clapped a hand upon Boromir's shoulder, his grip stronger than Boromir remembered. "Get some rest, brother. You sorely need it."

Boromir nodded mutely, feeling unable to do more. As he entered his chambers, he could only think of how, despite his familiar surroundings, everything, _everything, _had changed. He sat down on his bed and, unashamedly, let the tears stream down his face.

* * *

Aelflaed, the servant who had come to fetch Omana, was very kind, and accepting of her unfamiliarity with the customs of royalty, or those of any kind of society. She politely instructed Omana on how one was to use the baths of the palace, and when she returned to her room, she found the girl had laid out a lovely night gown for her to wear to bed. As she slipped the article over her head, she was amazed to find that the fabric was softer than anything she had ever felt before, and spent quite a while simply running her hands over the sleeves and skirts. When Aelflaed returned, she sat on the bed beside Omana, brushing and braiding her long hair in the manner of the Gondorian nobility. Though they said little to each other, what little they did say was not tense or uncomfortable, as much of Omana's conversation so far had been. For reasons she could not explain, Omana had trusted Aelflaed the moment she met her. Perhaps it was the twinkle of life and quiet joy in her eyes that made her feel trustworthy, or the way she seemed to be completely comfortable in her own skin. No matter the reason, when the servant's hands accidentally bumped Omana's back, she did not jump, or try to turn around, instead making a small comment about never having had her hair braided before.

As Aelflaed was tying the braid off with a small cord, a knock came at the door, making both girls jump. "Is it Boromir do you suppose?" Omana said softly to no one in particular, as Aelflaed quickly gained her feet.

"Shall I ask them to leave, miss?" she asked, starting towards the door. "You must be tired, and you aren't properly dressed."

Omana thought. "I am dressed no less than I was at dinner, and am awake enough to remain thus for a while longer. Let them in, pray." she requested, and Aelflaed, though still looking a bit doubtful, nodded and opened the door.

"Ah, Lords and Ladies. You come to see Miss Omana I'd imagine." Aelflaed said perkily, and Omana felt a twinge of regret. _More than one? _she thought, gaining her feet uncomfortably. She hadn't faced anyone by the other girl all by herself yet - Boromir had always been there. She gulped, and braced herself.

"If we might." a graceful voice, a rich baritone that she recognized from dinner. As the owner of the voice and his companions came into view, Omana was able to identify them as Lord Elrond and the other elves, though his was the only name she knew. "Good evening, Omana or the River." Elrond said, and the elves bowed their heads slightly in greeting.

"Um, good evening." she replied uncertainly, executing a clumsy, unpracticed curtsy. Aelflaed stood in the back of the room, smiling at Omana encouragingly.

"Forgive us for our late arrival, but we must be leaving tomorrow, and there are things we might ask of you." He paused here, and Omana realized he was waiting for her to speak.

"Oh. Ask what you will." she said, wishing that she could speak with as much grace as they could.

The rest of the elves shifted expectantly, fanning out slightly, as if to better see her. "If you would be willing to, we should very much like to see you in this Middle Realm of which you speak. For academic purposes."

Omana frowned. "Why should you wish this?"

Elrond half shrugged, the action ridiculously graceful. "We have never seen one such as you before, and should like to know more about this magic you possess."

Omana nodded slowly, realizing that yes, yes of course it was a type of magic. "How long would you like me to stay?"

"As long as you are comfortable." Elrond replied, smiling, "You are weary, and we would not put any undue stress on you. However, the longer you can give us, the better."

Omana slowly nodded, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair before realizing it was braided back and letting it flop back to her side. "I must warn you, before I do so, however. When I shift into the realm, all things that are living will, ah, try to get away from me. Terror, I think, would be the most apt descriptor." The elves simply nodded, and she nodded back, trying not to look nervous or uncertain. As she slipped from one world into the next, she wondered if Arwen's magic was still working on her, or if she had truly overcome her fear.

The first thing that hit her was the darkness. Used to a forest, where nearly everything glowed with life, the cold stone of Minas Tirith seemed to be pitch black. The second thing, which hit her much harder, was the song. Never before had she head such a life song, such beauty and complexity, both ancient and brand new, many different threads of tone and pitch and rhythm drifting over one another. There were harmonies of every kind, with dissonances somehow blending perfectly with them. Ebbing and flowing, it's volume changed, sometimes deafening, sometimes almost impossible to hear. It was coming, she knew, from the elves, who glowed with a brighter light than any she had ever seen. The light was beautiful, despite being so bright as to be blinding, were it in the physical world. It almost seemed to have ripples of color in it, though Omana knew that there was no color in this world. But the song, oh the song! It was impossibly beautiful, more beautiful than anything could be in the physical world. Had she not been a mere shadow, Omana was sure there would be tears in her eyes.

Omana stayed as long as she possibly could, listening to the melodies that seemed to wrap around her like a blanket, and soothe her. When she finally decided that she had to leave or become nothing more than wisps of essence drifting in the middle realm, she reluctantly shifted back, becoming physical flesh and bone once more. When she opened her eyes, Omana staggered a step back. Every elf in the room had drawn closer to her, so close as to be uncomfortable, especially for one such as Omana. Their eyes were filled with a wonder, an awe such that one might think they had seen Ilúvatar himself. And they were looking straight at her.

"I-I-I am sorry." she stammered. "I did, I did not mean to-"

"Do not be sorry." Elrond replied, still seeming very distant. "Anything, but sorry." Slowly, his eyes became clearer, as did those of the other elves in the room. "Omana, you must understand. Elves never see death, not even when we surrender to injury or grief. We are bound to this world forever. For those who do not have it, it seems a blessing. But for those who are bound to this world, it is perhaps not always so." Though they were conscious of their surroundings once more, the elves still seemed enchanted, as if she had caught them in some sort of spell. "Thank you, Omana of the River. Thank you." He said something briefly in his own tongue, quickly echoed by the other elves in the room. Slowly, after each nodding their farewells, they exited her room, leaving Omana once again alone with Aelflaed.

The servant girl stepped out of her corner as the door shut, her eyes wide. "Miss, what, what was..."

"I am sorry, Aelflaed," Omana said, realizing that the girl must have been terrified throughout her transformation. "I forgot you were present. You must have been very afraid. But please understand that I am not the monster I appear to be."

"No miss, of course not." Aelflaed replied, her voice speaking of no fallacy. "I did not even watch, Miss. As soon as you mentioned it being frightening, I covered my eyes. But, I heard all the elves gasp, and then the room felt as if it was suddenly winter, cold like ice... and I was still afraid miss. I don't know what of, but I was afraid." Her large eyes grew wide. "What was it, miss?"

Omana smiled slightly. "Perhaps you would be content with me explaining it in the morning? I am exceedingly weary." As indeed she was. The combination of weeks of travel and staying in the Middle Realm for as long as that had rendered her barely able to stand.

"Oh, of course miss!" Aelflaed replied, hurrying over the pull back the covers on her bed, which Omana collapsed onto. "I apologize for keeping you awake any longer."

"No, it is fine." Omana said, as Aelflaed picked up the candle and prepared to leave. "Oh, and Aelflaed?"

"Yes miss?"

Omana smiled. "Call me by my first name, if you please."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hi all! I am super glad to see so many of you reviewing, I really really really appreciate it. I hope y'all like feels, cuz that's basically all that this chapter is. I suppose the technical term is 'character development' but still...**

** And, since I am stupid and completely forgot about that little reply button that's on my reviews, I shall simply be replying to all reviews here. If you have an account, from now on I shall attempt to reply directly to you in a PM. Sorry bout that.**

**Aeirlys - Thank you for being honest, I shall attempt to make my timelines a little more orderly. I had trouble with the last chapter in particular, because events were happening simultaneously.**

**FranzF - I considered doing Boromir/Omana, but I don't really think it would work, as their age gap is so large. I'm thinking more like fatherly love might be more of what happens, but I'm looking for a love interest, really. And, if there is enough demand for it, I may be able to make Boromir/Omana work... I'm sorry your previous reviews disappeared :(**

**Guest (uh, the first one I guess) - Alright, see the thing above for the romance part. But yes, I will definitely be messing with all the Boromir/Faramir/other people feels. I hope I'm alright at writing them :)**

**KristalikaDragonfly - Thanks for reviewing, and I will do my best!**

**Guest ( the second one) - I'm sorry your review disappeared, it seems that's happening a lot. I hope you like what I do with this chapter, as it's mostly like character relation development right now, but soon it shall be legit plot-line-ness going on.**

* * *

Omana awoke to the sun dazzling her closed eyes. She always woke in this manner - she would lie in a position such that the sunlight would slip thought the trees and wake her as soon as it was visible above the horizon. She enjoyed rising with the sun - it made her feel like she was a part of something. All the animals of the day woke with the sun and slept with the sun, and so did she. They were not so very different then she, she had always felt, they just didn't have the same sized brains to work with. She would work with nature during the day, and sleep with nature during the night. It was simply the easiest way, she had decided.

However, as she shifted and prepared to wake fully, she became aware that not all was as it should be. Beneath her was not the earth - not even the most massive of leaf piles or skins could ever be as soft as what she laid upon. And, her clothes, they were all wrong - soft and silky, almost like water to the touch, and it seemed that she wore a skirt, as opposed to the trousers she was accustomed to.

Jerking upright, her eyes flew open, every sense on high alert. She quickly assessed the danger levels as her brain caught up with what her senses were telling her. She was recalling now, their arrival at Minas Tirith, her introductions to people, her dinner, her room...

Trembling, she realized that Arwen's magic must have well and truly worn off now, for once again, she was afraid, and very much so. For a moment, she was torn between her two instincts - stay stock still, like one did with a predatory animal, or flee, as one did with a human. Finally, the latter, being the more logical in the instance, won out, and she skittered out of the bed, fleeing towards the window. Eyes wide, she scanned the room for any sign of life other than herself. After she was certain there was none, she slowly advanced, wondering how she could be so calm one day, and so utterly terrified the next.

After a thorough search of the room, she found only two things that seemed different from before. At the foot of her bed, which was much too far away for her feet to reach when she slept, there was a small stack of some sort of fabric, and a plain piece of parchment lying atop it, and on the nightstand beside her bed, she found a platter with all kinds of food on it. This second item she attacked with a vengeance, hunger outweighing caution. It was only after she had gulped down every ounce of food on her plate that she advanced on the stack. She picked up the paper, finding lines of scrolling script written upon it. With a grimace, she sat down, setting herself to the slow, tedious task of reading the note.

_Miss Omana,_

_I hope you slept well. Her Highness Lady Arwen woke up early to tell me not to come and wake you - something about you being frightened, though I don't know why you would be! But, her being the queen and all, I did as she asked. I'm pretty sure you're going to miss breakfast, so I left you something to eat so you won't be hungry. Oh, and Lady Arwen also asked you not be brought a dress, but a tunic with trousers, isn't that silly? But, she is the queen, and I suppose she has her reasons for everything. So, here are your clothes, your breakfast is on the nightstand, and if you need anything you only have to put the bell rope. _

_-Aelflaed_

The note took her an unfortunately long time to finish - the shadows had shifted a fair ways by the time she looked up again. She had never been good at reading, and since she had left she had never needed to.

But, it had given her all the information she had needed. She set the note aside, and lifted the first article of clothing off the top of the stack. A long sleeved, lovely white tunic unfolded beneath her hands, the fabric feeling just as soft as the night dress she wore, while still being durable. It was whiter than she had thought possible, as white as the clouds that floated in the sky. The leggings that accompanied them were much the same, though they were made of slightly coarser thread, and of a brown color. She quickly donned them, and pulled on her boots, however shoddy they appeared beside the finery that she was now wearing. Then, standing before the mirror (it was taller than she!), Omana examined herself. After a moment's thought, she pulled her hair free, letting it fall in long gold waves down her back. She looked like some strange cross between a prince and a princess - the clothes of one, the body of another. The thought made her smile, and shake her head. She was no princess - she was just a girl from the mountains. Heaven only knew what strange luck had brought her here.

She stood for a few more minutes, indecisive of what her next move should be. Finally, she decided that her best plan of action was to seek for Boromir - she always felt safer around him. So, after a few more moments of hesitation, she silently slipped out of her door and into the corridor.

* * *

Faramir felt the eyes on him as soon as they arrived. He had been trained to be aware of such things. So, turning, he faced the one who watched him, but found no one there. Someone was spying on him, hiding? It took him a while, but he was eventually able to spot a pair of dark eyes peering at him from the shadows of the hallway, a single strand of blond hair betraying their owner.

"It is a rare person who can sneak up on me." Faramir said with a slight smile, sitting in one of the chairs that the bright room provided. It was one of many in the palace, meant for nothing other than sitting in, be it for conversation or reading. Overall, a very comfortable room, and perhaps a very opportune one to meet the skittish girl in. "I am impressed." The girl's eyes flashed with some emotion that he could not identify, before returning to apathy. "Omana, wasn't it?" A moment's hesitation, then a nod. "Well then, Omana, will you not come out and speak with me? There is much that I need to say to you."

There was a moment's pause, before her small voice came from the darkness. "What would you speak of?"

Faramir could detect the fear behind the words, and knew that whatever magic Her Highness had used on the girl, it had worn off. "You do not trust me." A small, affirmative nod was the only reply to his words. "What can I do that will change that?" Faramir thought that she shrugged, though the darkness of the hall made it hard to tell. He looked at her thoughtfully, before continuing, "What if I told you something that no one else knows?" The girl took a slight, not-even-half step forward, and Faramir knew he had her attention, despite her silence.

As he was about to begin, Faramir felt another pair of eyes on him. I quick glance to the side revealed Boromir, standing in the door frame, apparently content to watch the proceedings out of Omana's sight for the time being. Faramir, wishing for his brother to hear the story as well, did not comment on this, instead beginning his tale.

"When news of Boromir's death came to me, I was stationed in Osgiliath, the city that you can see by the river from here." He pointed out the window, hoping Omana would go and look. She didn't. "However, Sauron wanted Osgiliath for his own. And so he sent his army to attack from the river, a surprise attack, in the dead of the night. At first, we were able to hold, as we were informed of their attack a few minutes before it began. But when two of the black riders, the Nazgûl, came on their creatures, and attacked with the army, it became clear there was no chance of victory. Thinking to save my men, I ordered a retreat, and did indeed, manage to save many of them, though not as many as I might have liked. However, my father did not see it the same way." Omana, unconsciously, was beginning to creep forward, so that Faramir could now make out the features of her face. "He summoned me before him, and scolded me for letting Osgiliath be taken by our enemy. 'Your brother would not have allowed this to happen' he told me. And I replied, 'You now wish I had died in my brother's place?' I knew what his answer was, but I asked him anyways. And do you know what he said to me?"

Omana, her eyes wide as a child's, shook her head slowly, though her face spoke of otherwise. "He said, 'Yes. I do wish that.'" His highly trained hearing allowed Faramir to catch the soft catch of Boromir's breath as he said this last sentence, and to his surprise, Omana appeared to also, as her head snapped around, eyes searching for that which was just barely hidden from her sight. "Which do you think is worse - having a father who wishes you dead, or not having a father at all?"

The girl simply shook her head, her hand running through her hair, an action that seemed as if it were practiced often. "I..." she began the phrase, but left it hanging there, as if she could not get more words to form in her mind.

"But there is a reason I told you this story, beyond our common suffering." he said softly, drawing her eyes back from the ground. She was almost in the light now, so that most of the shadows had been pulled away. "Because at that moment, I wished it too." Another catch of breath, Omana's head whipping around again, Boromir still just out of her view. "I would have gladly given up anything to have my brother returned, even if only for the few moments before I was bereft of life." He was surprised to find tears in his eyes - he had not thought he had any tears left. "And yet, but some miracle, my brother has, indeed, been returned to me. All thanks to you, Omana. I owe you more than I can ever give, but if there is ever anything you need, anything at all, I promise I shall do everything in my power to give it to you."

Slowly, hesitantly, Omana stepped out into the room, dark eyes locked on his. They seemed odd, out of place beside her bright golden hair, which glinted in the sun. And yet, they expressed so much emotion, so much pain and sadness, when she allowed them to. She was much like Éowyn, he thought, as he noted that she was dressed rebelliously in her men's clothing, and yet managing to look very much feminine. This girl was clearly not about to allow her gender to control her.

"Thank you, Lord Faramir." she said shyly.

"I wish you to be my friend, not by subordinate - please, let us not use titles with each other." Faramir replied.

She nodded slightly. "Faramir, then."

Faramir smiled, nodding in return. "Yes. But you did not come here to speak of my brother, did you?"

She smiled slightly in return. "Nay. I was looking for him actually." She glanced at the hallway where Boromir had hidden himself, but the man had stepped back, so he was yet out of her view. "Do you know where I might find him?"

Faramir, who was still able to see Boromir, glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Boromir shook his head slightly, and Faramir gave a small nod of recognition. "I do not, but he will likely be on his way to lunch - if you will join us for the meal, I will make sure he attends."

Omana smiled at him. "That is very kind of you, my thanks." she began to turn away to head back the way she had come, before turning back and smiling sheepishly. "But I do not know the way."

Faramir patiently explained the route she would have to take, and she thanked him yet again, before setting off. Just before she left, she smiled at him, for the first time he had seen a true, unrestrained smile. And he realized that, underneath the blanket of fear and sadness that this girl had had thrown over her, there was someone who was bursting with joy and energy, someone who was begging to be released.

After Omana had turned the corner and was out of view down the hallway, Faramir said, "Why do you hide from her, brother?"

"I do not hide, and indeed I shall show her around the palace today." Boromir stepped out of the hallway, and sat down in a chair across from Faramir. He was smiling, though it had a decidedly sad tint to it. "I only wished to talk with you, alone."

Faramir looked away from him. "I see." He felt suddenly embarrassed for saying so much in his brother's presence. However much he needed to know of it, it was not an easy tale to tell, and surely not an easy one for him to hear. "And what would you have us speak of?"

"Faramir, did what you speak of truly happen, or did you tell the tale simply to win Omana's favor?" Boromir said bluntly. _He never has been one to beat around the bush, _Faramir thought.

"You speak of it as if I court her!" Faramir said lightly, and Boromir smiled, but it faded quickly. He sighed resignedly. "Yes, it happened. I spoke nothing but the truth."

Boromir shook his head in disbelief. "But surely he said this simply in his distress? Surely he did not truly believe the words he spoke?"

"Nay, brother." Faramir replied. "You know that father has always favored you; he meant every word he said."

Boromir shook his head again. "But, Faramir..."

"I know you wish to think highly of our father, Boromir. But you must accept this fact. He did not love me as he loved you." He hated to see the pain in his brother's eyes, but there was nothing he could do.

Boromir's breathing seemed slightly labored now. "Did this... did this happen before, Faramir? When I was still here, was he this cruel to you?"

"I do not wish to slander the dead." Faramir said hurriedly, trying to stop things before they went to far.

"It is not slander if it is the truth." Boromir retorted sharply, his voice holding the cutting edge that Faramir knew he used with soldiers reluctant to reveal the misdeeds of their compatriots. "Faramir, I must know."

Faramir looked away from his brother's intense gaze. How could he cause his brother any more pain? Would it be more of a wrong to lie, or to wound him further? Finally, he decided. "Yes, brother. Many times, though most often when no one else could see, and never as outright as that. The times you saw it were only a fraction of the times he did such things to me." Though he was not looking, he could tell that Boromir's face was torn with hurt. "He spoke often of our mother, and how I took her from him. He spoke of my failings, of how I could never measure up to you, and your standards. He spoke of how I was not worthy to be a steward, how I would be the ruin of Gondor, how I brought shame upon him, and upon you. His words were made and aimed to kill."

Boromir spoke again only after a long moment of silence. "And did they?"

Faramir let out a mirthless laugh. "Nay, but they came close."

They sat in silence for a long time, neither of them looking at each other. Again, it was Boromir who broke the silence.

"Did you hate him, brother?" Faramir looked up at the anguish in his brother's voice. "Did you hate me?"

All thoughts of his answer to the first question were knocked away by the second. "Hate you?" Faramir exclaimed softly, "Why would I hate you?"

"Because I did not do my duty to you as you brother!" Boromir virtually yelled, jerking to his feet. "Because instead of standing up to father I simply stood there like a mute and watched!" He stormed over to the window, where he braced his elbows against the window, twining his fingers though his long hair. "Because I was not there for you when I should have been."

Faramir, not quite sure how to respond to this outburst, gained his feet and walked silently over to his brother. He placed a hand upon his bowed shoulders, and was shocked to find them shaking. He was sobbing openly, as he had never seen him do before. "Brother..." Faramir began, unsure what he was going to say.

"I was too selfish and greedy to see it, wasn't I?" Boromir's voice was choked, as if he was having difficulty forming words. "I was blinded by my own desires!"

"Be silent, Boromir. I do not resent you." Faramir tried to speak with the same tone Boromir had when he had comforted Faramir when they were children - firm and commanding, while still being gentle and caring. "You did not abandon me, brother. Do you not remember all the times that this situation has been reversed?"

"And yet." Boromir replied bitterly.

"Yet nothing." Faramir insisted, tightening his grip on Boromir's shoulder. "Can you not see that I was devastated when I thought you dead? Did you not hear me say I would have given anything to see you alive again?"Boromir did not reply, remaining still, face hidden by his hair. Together they stood in tableau, a painting framed by the window.

* * *

It was a long time before Faramir continued. "I did not hate father either." Bormir twisted slightly, trying to see Faramir from under his hair. "If I had, his words could not have touched me. But I did love him. And that is why his abuses were able to cut so deeply, to slice me straight to my core." Faramir pulled him up, and Boromir quickly wiped away the tears from his face, despite the fact that he knew his brother was aware of their presence. "If I could still love the man who did such things to me, do you not think that I still love you, the man who took upon himself the task of being my guardian angel?"

"Your guardian angel failed." Boromir breathed, the anguish that had almost been stoppered up bursting free again. "He fell very short."

Faramir, still holding his shoulder, gave Boromir a gentle shake. "Do not say such things! I am yet alive, am I not?"

"Barely." Boromir countered.

"And yet." Faramir repeated his words, turning them around to a new purpose. Boromir looked into his brother's eyes, and in them, could see only love and forgiveness. Boromir realized that his brother, in the few months they had been apart, had grown in ways he could not fully comprehend yet. "Do not ever doubt my love for you brother - it shall never fade."

Boromir, overwhelmed with emotion, was only just barely able to reply, "And do not doubt mine." When they embraced for this second time, Boromir truly felt as if he were home.

Faramir pulled away, and Boromir was somewhat relieved to find that he too had tears in his eyes. "Come; I believe that you have someone to meet at lunch."

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I know, I'm sorry. I just love the Boromir and Faramir feels. So many feels... anyways. That's probably all that there's gonna be for a while, because they kinda went through everything they needed too at this point... so. Next chapter is gonna feature Éomer and Éowyn. Hurray for Rohirrim!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: My deepest apologies for massive delays. I really an trying my best, but sometimes even a Goliath effort can't bring haste. So, I will not take up too much of my/your time with this little note. However, let it be said - I am going to be doing the romance thusly (that's right, thusly). I will write the story in a way that you can choose to interpret it as fatherly/brotherly love, or you can take it to be legit romantic love. So there.**

**FarmersDaughter - Virtual cookies for you! Thanks for reading, glad you like this one too.**

* * *

"And this," Boromir narrated as they stepped through the door from the true palace, "Is the stable." He watched with amusement as Omana pulled up abruptly, looking around curiously.

"A stable," she repeated, "with horses?"

Bormir chuckled. "Yes, with horses." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, guiding her forward. "My horse is, ah, was here." He felt an odd mix of regret and fear twist in his chest as he realized that, when he had been announced dead, many of his possessions had likely been disposed of, possibly including his horse. However, the feeling vanished, and was replaced by relief, as he found his lovely chestnut standing placidly in his stall. Upon seeing his master, the horse stepped as far forward in his stall as he could and gently butted Boromir with his forehead, his sudden advance making Omana scurry back. "There is naught to fear." Boromir told her, gently stroking the creature's nose. "Eachann, though he is a battle horse, is quite tame." He gestured for her to come closer, and she did so tentatively, looking nervously from him to the horse. Then, she very slowly reached out a hand, until her fingertips rested against the horse's soft nose, and then just as tentatively she slid the fingers down along his muzzle. Confidence growing, she took another step forward and, flipping her hand over, ran the back of it against the side of his face.

"Eachann." she murmured, "What a pretty name you have."

"Indeed." Omana jumped at the unexpected voice, her sudden motion making the horse stamp nervously. Boromir, after calming Eachann, turned as well, not all that surprised to see the horse lord Éomer walking up, with his sister Éowyn close behind.

"My lord and lady," Boromir said formally, bowing slightly, "You must forgive me, I did not know you were here."

Éomer chuckled, coming up to clap Boromir on the shoulder, "Come, surely you need not be so formal when we are to be brother-in-laws!" Éowyn smacked him on the shoulder, which only made him laugh. "Well, it is why I stay, is it not? There would be little point in leaving only to return when the announcement is made."

Boromir, who was frowning slightly with confusion, suddenly made the connection that he had been unable to before. "Indeed, I was merely startled." He said, deciding he would have to ask Faramir about this later.

"Our apologies." Éowyn replied, but Boromir noted that her eyes were on Omana, not him. "We did not mean to frighten you."

Omana, still hovering uncertainly against the wall, said in a small voice, "Apology accepted I'm sure." Boromir fought the urge to laugh - she was becoming a natural at the veiled speech of court after only one day.

"I was just bringing her down here as part of a tour of the castle." Boromir explained, "I doubt she has seen a horse this close for a very long time."

Éomer smiled at the girl, loosening his stance and making himself look less imposing. "Do they frighten you?" He asked her, and Boromir watched as her face turned thoughtful, and she examined the horse that stood nearby.

"No." she finally decided, stepping up and stroking Eachann's nose again. "No, I think he's lovely, and sweet."

Éomer nodded, walking slowly up beside her to run his hands over the horse's strong neck. "I am glad you think so. There are many who think them to be beasts, without intelligence or thought. But the Rohirrim know better." His hand left the horse, and he turned back to the group. "Know that I mean no disrespect towards your horse when I offer to show you a horse of the Rohirrim. Or rather, one that was of the Rohirrim." Éomer corrected, smiling brightly at the pair.

Boromir looked to Omana, who shrugged. However, in the way she shrugged, the way she seemed a little bit too nonchalant, he knew the answer. "Of course; lead on!"

* * *

Éomer merrily took the lead, while his sister dropped back to walk with Omana and Boromir at a more relaxed pace. Still mildly afraid, though she desperately wished she wasn't, Omana strategically placed Boromir between herself and the lady. Éowyn seemed nice enough, but when one has been thrown out by all of humanity, outward appearances rarely get through. Omana was going to need something more than just appearance.

When they reached the stall that Éomer had entered, Boromir stopped, gesturing for Omana to go first. She gave him a look, but he merely responded with an encouraging smile. She knew he was trying to help, but he was doing so in what she felt was a very unhelpful way. Seeing no other option, she reluctantly entered the stall after the horse lord.

All of her doubts vanished as she saw the animal that stood within. A great white stallion, standing much taller than she, it's bright blue eyes fixing straight to her as soon as she stepped into his view, stood proudly within. Éomer's hand was resting gently on the steed's neck, though Omana could see he was being careful not to appear as if he were restraining him. His white coat seemed to glow, like the life force of living things in the Middle Realm. Transfixed, the girl shuffled closer, extending her hand to hesitantly touch the animals nose. It tossed it's head, making her recoil suddenly, but Éomer hushed the horse, and then softly reassured Omana, "Do not worry, horses often do such things. He is not angry, or any such thing." Omana nodded hesitantly, stroking against the horse's nose as she had with Eachann. "His name is Shadowfax." Éomer told her. "He is the king of all the horses, and can only be ridden by those whom he chooses. Gandalf, the only who has accomplished this feat, is keeping him here for the duration of his stay in Gondor."

"He is gorgeous!" Omana breathed, the seemingly tame behavior of the horse making her confident as she stepped forward to run her hands over the horse's neck.

"Indeed he is." Éomer agreed softly, as Omana reached up to run her hand along the horses withers, down his back, feeling the strong muscles contained beneath the skin. "I wish I could let you ride him, but he is simply too unpredictable to be safe."

Omana let out a soft, tittering laugh. "It does not matter, as I cannot ride." However, at that moment she wished she did so that she could try to control Shadowfax. As if hearing her thoughts, the horse let out a snort and tossed his head derisively.

Éomer and Éowyn both let out sounds as if they had been struck. "Cannot ride?"

Omana shrugged diffidently. "When did I have the chance?"

Though it was clear that her point had been made, the siblings were still horrified. "That you were denied such an opportunity is truly unfortunate," Éowyn said softly, "If you would allow us, we should very much like to teach you." She looked breifly at her brother, who nodded confirmation.

Omana looked over at Boromir, who again nodded encouragingly. She mirrored the action, slower and less confidently. "Alright. Yes. I think... I think I would appreciate your tutelage."

Éomer grinned broadly. "Magnificent." He turned to Boromir. "Which of these horses is the tamest?"

Boromir looked about over the stalls. "Laka, the speckle in the ninth stall - she is the gentlest beast you could find in all of Middle Earth."

Éomer nodded. "Éowyn, will you go and saddle her? I would like to explain the basics with Omana." The young woman nodded, flashing a smile to Omana before heading off.

* * *

_Oh gods don't let me fall off! _Omana thought as she sat precariously atop the animal. Though she had looked small enough from the ground, she seemed taller than any mountain from her current vantage point.

"Relax!" Éomer instructed, gentle but firm. "She can tell you are nervous, and it will make her nervous as well." Making a conscious effort, Omana loosened each muscle in turn, until she sat more comfortably on the horse. Laka let out a deep, sighing breath, making her sides swell and then deflate. "See? She feels better already." Omana struggled not to tense again as the Rohirrim stepped forward and clapped the horse on the neck. When the horse didn't react, she nodded, reassuring herself.

"You will be fine." Boromir said softly on her other side, resting a hand on her knee. She gave him a weak smile of thanks, but had no time for more as Éomer and Éowyn swung up into their own saddles and rode up on either side of her, and Boromir stepped back to assist from the ground.

"All you have to do to tell her to go forward, is give her a little squeeze with your legs." Éowyn demonstrated her words by squeezing her mount into action, walking forward a few meters before stopping. Omana, feeling more than a little nervous, copied her, and let out a small yelp as the horse jerked into action. The noise goaded Laka into an almost-trot, and Éomer, seeing the action, quickly matched the pace and reached over to tug on the reins slightly, slowing them again.

"Careful" Éomer warned, smiling to take the edge off her fear. "Making loud noises is another way to tell them to go, and go fast." The blood still drained from her face, Omana nodded. Taking a shaky breath, she nudged the horse again, and this time the mare lurched into a plodding walk. As the pace remained steady, she slowly relaxed, and soon they were walking through the stable yard in comfort.

When they came to a corner, they showed her how to stop, and then how to get the horse moving by turning her head, at the same time showing her how to turn. Then, after she became comfortable with that, they showed her how to trot, and then canter. She was a fast learner, and as she became more comfortable and more confident, she learned ever faster. Soon, she was navigating courses set out by Boromir, who moved around obstacles and occasionally would shout out a tip, though he usually left the instruction to the horse lords.

It had been several hours when Éomer finally called a halt. "The horses need a rest, as do we." He swung down, as did his sister, though Omana briefly stalled. In only a matter of moments, Boromir was there, helping her to swing from the saddle and drop to the ground without stumbling. Adrenaline still pumping through her, Omana grinned broadly, resting one hand Laka's neck.

"Did you enjoy it?" Boromir asked, though the answer was already clear.

"Yes!" Omana exclaimed, tossing her hair out of her face to beam up at him with those dark eyes. "Oh Boromir, it was just splendid!"

The man smiled back at her, and clapped her on the shoulder. "We'll make a rider out of you yet."

* * *

After a short break, which was filled with a great deal of begging from Omana, the siblings were coerced into giving her another few hours of teaching, in which time she advanced immensely. But, the horses had their limits, and Éomer secretly suspected that Omana might have them too, and be unaware of them. He called off the lesson when he noticed a slight sag to her shoulders, a certain way of holding herself that looked designed to conserve energy. Whether she realized it or not, she was quickly exhausting herself, and this could lead to carelessness. He had seen more than one of his comrades fall from the saddle in an attempt to overstretch their bounds.

As the girl was led back to the stables by his sister, Éomer bent to examine one of his own mount's hooves - he had noticed a slight favoring of the foot, and wanted to be sure that it was something that would heal quickly, and not something that would impede him in the future.

"Éomer." It was Boromir's voice, soft and bordering on hesitant. He did not look up from his work, but made a small noise of acknowledgment. "I wanted to thank you for taking so much time to teach Omana. She appreciates it more than you may realize."

Éomer laughed softly, using his fingers to gently probe the horse's ankle. "More than I realize from the way her eyes were glowing?"

"Yes." Boroir replied softly, and Éomer paused, looking over his shoulder to see the man behind him. "I have never seen her thus, not since I have met her. You have given her a gift that no one else could."

Deciding he would be fine, Éomer murmured a soft command to the horse, who butted his head gently against his shoulder before trotting over to the stable and finding his stall. "But surely you could have taught her-"

"Not as you could have." Éomer was shocked by the open truthfulness on Boromir's face. It was a rare person in the game of politics who would show such a face. Had he not seen the expression on the other man's face, Éomer would have taken the words as the empty flattery of a noble trying to win favor. "Though you knew it not, she holds the Rohirrim in the highest of respect."

Éomer frowned slightly, "But how could she? She has seen no more of the world than here!"

Boromir flushed slightly and looked away. "It may not be my place to say. But know that I am grateful to any man who can make her smile that way."

Éomer, uncertain what to say, simply nodded his reply, before quietly excusing himself to tend to his horse. This girl of mysteries became ever more mysterious the longer one looked at her, it seemed. But then, who was he to deny her the delight he had seen in her eyes?

* * *

**Sorry, kind of a short chapter, but I wanted to let you guys know I hadn't quit quite yet. I hope I didn't destroy the siblings too much, they're tough for me. I just wanted a horse chapter so baaaad... I have my ideas, but who do you all want her to chat with next? Always open to suggestions! Thanks for reading and reviewing, I am free with my distribution of virtual cookies as rewards!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm a bad person, I'm sorry, I should have done this earlier D': Better late than never, I suppose... hang in there folks! Anyways. I tried to make this less 'Lets all be nice to Omana just to make something to write about yay!' stuff, because frankly I figure there are better ways to do these things. So, plot development is imminent, have no fears.**

**Alright. So if you guys really want, I have figured out a way that Omana/Boromir could work. But I warn you, it would not be the typical "yay we're in love" romance, and also I would have to bend the rules of lots of things. So, if you guys still want, I will do it. Got plans for both ways, so it's all good.**

**Just for future reference, does anyone know:**

**1) What happened to all the Nazgul and their pets?**

**2)What Aragorn and Arwen's son's name is?**

**Theta-Mcbride and Saren-Dipety: Thanks! I really appreciate your positive feedback :)**

**FarmersDaughter: Congrats, your wish has come true - I appreciate the suggestion, as it actually helped me get to an actual plot-ish thing, so thanks!**

* * *

"Wake up, Miss Omana," Aelflaed said as she stepped into the room. Omana, letting out a groan, rolled over, pulling the covers around her. Her entire body ached, sore from the hours of riding the day before. "Miss Omana, wake up - the King is requesting to see you and Lord Boromir."

Shocked by the words, Omana jerked and sat up, looking at Aelflaed with wide eyes. "What? When?"

"You have time to eat and dress, but not much more." Omana tossed the covers of her bed aside and stood, looking around for her outfit. To her surprise, she had been provided another set of hose and a tunic.

"Not a dress?" She asked.

"They thought it would make you feel more at home," was the reply, and Omana nodded, unsure whether she should be relieved of embarrassed.

After a hastily gulped down meal and an equally quick dressing, Aelflaed led her through the network of hallways to bring her out past the Tree of the King and to the throne room of Gondor, whose doors were firmly shut.

"Good morning, Omana!" greeted Boromir, who was already waiting there. "I trust you slept well."

"Well enough," she affirmed, glancing at the imposing doors, "Do you know why we're here?"

He shook his head, his hair, which was now quite long, twirling about his jaw. "No more than you."

As he spoke, one of the doors creaked open, and out stepped Faramir and Éowyn, hand in hand, grinning broadly. "Good morning Boromir, Omana," Faramir said, nodding to them slightly as the door swung back shut.

"What news, brother?" Boromir inquired, "Why do you smile so?"

The couple shared a conspiratorial look before Faramir replied carefully. "I am not allowed to tell you, but you shall find out at dinner tonight."

Feigning hurt, Boromir asked, "Can you not tell even your own sibling, your own flesh and blood?"

Faramir shook his head with mock seriousness, while Éowyn's eyes gained a mischievous glint. "Nay. But one _might_ be allowed to tell a brother-in-law to be." Without another word, the elated pair continued past them down the hall, whispering animatedly to each other.

Boromir looked at Omana with playfully wide eyes, making her laugh softly. However, they did not have long, for the doors opened again and a footman of some kind stepped out, saying, "You many enter."

"Follow my lead," Boromir whispered in her ear, and Omana felt her pulse pick up suddenly. She nodded, trying to reassure herself that there was no reason to be worried. Even so, she kept her hands in loose fists to keep them from shaking as they stepped inside.

Bright light from the windows made the room seem to glow, bright whites offset by dark black pillars. The ceiling soared impossibly high, defying the world to try and pull it down, regal and strong. At the far end of the room where was a raised dais, upon which sat a throne which the King was seated in. He looked ever so slightly uncomfortable to her perceptive eyes, as if he did not like the feeling of looking down at them. On his right side stood the queen, and on his left stood an old man who, despite his age seemed to have more power than many in the room. As they approached them, Omana kept a careful eye on Boromir, determined not to miss her cue. When Boromir stopped and dropped gracefully to one knee,Omana attempted to imitate him exactly, though she doubted she was quite so graceful. As she bowed her head as well, her hair falling across her face, all she could think about was how vulnerable she was, blind to the world, and how much she despised the fact that this worried her.

* * *

She looked brittle, Aragorn thought, as if she might shatter should she fall. When he had first seen her, he had assumed she only looked thus beside Boromir's muscular bulk, but after seeing Éowyn beside Faramir, who was of a similar build, he had concluded that Omana was indeed as thin as she appeared.

After a moment of formal pause, Aragorn stood, offering his arm to Arwen. She took it, all elegance (_As a queen should be,_ Aragorn thought), and together they descended the stairs. Gandalf, who had joined them only moments before and yet somehow still looked composed, followed slightly behind them. When they stood directly in front of the two, Aragorn softly said, "Rise." Together they did, though the girl's eyes did not. It was admittedly strange to see her standing there, before a king, in the clothes of a man, but it somehow seemed to be more fitting for her. "I hope everything has been to your satisfaction?" Though it was a statement, Aragorn phrased it as a question.

"Better than when I left, thank you my lord." _My lord. _Such a strange phrase to hear addressed to him, after so many years of being just Aragorn, Strider, or even just Ranger, usually with some distaste to the word. And yet now, people called him _my lord_, honestly and sincerely - even those he considered friends.

"And you, Omana?" He asked gently, "How do you find your stay?"

She glanced up shyly, before flicking her eyes away again. "I cannot say, my lord, as I have nothing to compare it to that could do it justice." The words sounded somewhat strained, as if the act of talking was difficult for her.

"I am sorry if you are uncomfortable," Aragorn said, and she looked up with surprise. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but he cut her off. "So I shall come straight to the point. The gift you posses is an uncommon one, if not a unique one. In order for us to more fully understand what your gift is, I would ask that you allow your strength in this area to be assessed." There was a pause, before Omana seemed to realize he was waiting for her permission, and she nodded. "This is Gandalf," he introduced, and the wizard stepped forward, "He is a wizard, and will simply run you through a series of tests. But know that no matter what the result of these tests are, you will have a place in our house."

The girl bowed slightly before looking up at him, and mustering a small smile. "Thank you, my lord. For everything."

Aragorn simply nodded his acknowledgement, as Gandalf stepped down the final step beside the girl and gesturing for her to follow him. As he did so, his entire way of holding himself changed, transforming from powerful wizard, to kind old man, and when he started speaking softly to her on the way out, his voice reflected this change as well. Aragorn imagined that he could see Omana visibly loosen in response to this change.

As the door swung shut behind them, Boromir looked into Aragorn's eyes, saying, "My thanks for than, my lord-"

"Please," he interrupted, "You need not call me that. Only on formal occasions should you have to use my title. If you cannot use my given name, there are next to none who can."

"Thank you, Aragorn," Boromir amended. "Though she makes swift progress, she is still much more comfortable in the presence of one, two at most."

"If there is anything we can do to help, please let us know." Aragorn said.

"You already have my - Aragorn. The mere show of kindness, in any form, does more for her than anything else could." Abruptly, his expression shifted from open and thoughtful to business-like, almost wary. "But that is not why you have called me here."

"No," Aragorn agreed, "It is not." He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts and the best words with which to express them. "I understand that, from the perspectives of some, one could say that I have stole your crown from you." Seeing Boromir's mouth instantly open to protest, he hurried on, "Let me finish. I know that, for a long time, you too took this view. However, when... when we last met, I believe you thought differently." He let this hang for a moment, before finishing, "I should be very interested to hear what you think now, fully and honestly."

For a long time, they stood, eyes locked, silent. Boromir was the first to drop his away, it being his turn to gather his thoughts. "My lord-"

"Aragorn."

"...Aragorn. You are a kind man, and a forgiving one. So I ask that you forgive my early behavior towards you." The man seemed very nervous, as if he was reluctant to speak of the topic. The look didn't suit him. "Understand that, in my ignorance and greed, I truly believed that I was most suited for the throne, that I would better serve our people. But now..." He took a deep breath, let it out, took another. "Now I see that I was among the worst to rule. It is because you do not want the throne that you are the only one who can have it, and that, if you allow me, I will follow your command to the ends of the earth."

Slowly, Aragorn nodded. "I am glad to hear you say so, for I have a request to make of you."

"Anything." Boromir replied instantly, his unwavering loyalty making Aragorn smile.

"As you have said, I do not want the throne. The responsibility for a city is a large one, a daunting one, and one I would not take on alone." He nodded slightly as he saw understanding dawn in Boromir's eyes. "I would ask you join your brother as one of my advisers."

Though Boromir's reaction was at first enthusiastic, he seemed to check it suddenly, saying, "Are you quite certain, Aragorn?"

The new king smiled, "See? You speak as one already."

"But I-"

"Boromir." Both men looked over in surprise as Arwen spoke without preamble, "Do you truly think you could not overpower Frodo, if you chose?"

Startled by the question, he stammered, "I-I..."

"You could, and likely with ease. And yet, when you had the chance, you did not, not even in a maddened frenzy. Why?" This time Boromir did not even attempt speech, just stood in shocked silence. "Because your heart was not in it. Whether you were conscious of it or not, some part of you was fighting back against the ring, against what darkness there was inside of you. And, in the end, it won, did it not? Had it been defeated, we would not be standing here." She gave him an ancient, slightly sad smile. "Do not doubt yourself, or be so quick to judge; you are not your enemy."

Still speechless, or perhaps simply unsure what to say, Boromir remained silent. Aragorn softly prompted, "What say you, Boromir?"

The man's reply was slow and careful. "I say... that if you are quite certain-"

"I am."

"Then... I should be very glad to accept your kind offer." He looked up with a broad smile. "Thank you Aragorn, my lady." he said, turning to each of them in turn.

Aragorn replied in kind, saying, "I am very glad to have you."

Understanding that the meeting was over, Boromir glanced about, presumably for Omana. "She will not be returning for some time," Aragorn told him, "You may as well wait for her in the castle."

Boromir nodded, and started to leave, before turning back. "If I might, I would ask you one thing..."

Aragorn glanced over at Arwen, who was smiling as well, knowing just what he might ask. "I am sorry, Boromir, but we too have pledged our silence to Faramir and Éowyn."

Boromir sighed good-naturedly, before giving a slight bow and exiting the hall.

"That could have gone much worse." Aragorn noted in Sindarin, as he and Arwen started back up the steps to the throne. "I thank you for your help, though I am not certain that all you said was technically true."

Arwen smiled at him again as he seated himself. "True or not, he is not the man he once was. He has grown, into something new and better. And sometimes," she added, "In speaking something, we make it true."

* * *

Despite his imposing stature and title, the old wizard seemed quite kind to Omana. His voice sounded the way she had always imagined a grandfather would - kind, gentle, wise, and merry.

As the exited the throne room, he turned to her. "Might I ask how old you are?"

A small smile appeared on her face at the phrasing of the question, somehow feeling very much at ease with the man - perhaps he had cast a spell like the one Arwen had when they had met. "I believe you just did." Gandalf chuckled, waiting for her to continue. "I do not know, sir. No one thought to remember."

The man made a small noise of dismay as he pulled out his pipe. "Should you like to find out?" he asked, as he pressed some leaf into the pipe and lit it with a murmured word.

Her eyes grew wide, full of wonder. "You can do that?"

"Yes!" Gandalf smiled. "I am a wizard, you know." He came to a door and opened it, gesturing for her to enter first. "If there is time, we will find out before luncheon."

She smiled in return, stepping past him into the room. It was small, measuring now more than 10 feet by 10 feet, made entirely of stone, had no windows, and only one door. Panic briefly surged back, making her stop dead in her tracks. Why a room like this?

"I apologize for such a bare room, but it is the only one I could find that will be able to block out any stray magical influence." Gandalf told her as he shut the door, "Quite a lot of rogue power flying about after recent events." Satisfied enough with this answer, Omana relaxed again, forcing herself to trust.

It started with a series of questions about how her 'ability' worked, having her describe the Middle Realm in detail. However, this could not substitute a demonstration, mainly because she could not say quite how her surroundings were affected, and so, Omana seated herself cross legged on the ground, and slipped into the Middle Realm.

She had thought the elves had glowed bright, but they were nothing compared to this. The glow of Gandalf's life force was not contained solely to his body - swaths of power swirled about his body in a nimbus of light, painful to look at, like the sun. As she watched, the swirling light which slowly ebbed out of her was caught up in an unfelt wind and whipped up into the vortex around the wizard. Around his staff, too, a small whirlwind had formed, weaving seamlessly into his. The music that accompanied the light was jumbled, many songs playing softly together making it seem loud. Two pitches, however, were louder than the rest, just barely audible over them. On opposite sides of the spectrum, both were so close to being out of human hearing range as to seem to disappear if one was not listening for them.

Pained, Omana looked away from him, looking instead at her own, relatively dim glow, watching as is slowly trickled away. She wanted to be sure she would have enough energy to do more than one test, as it would not do to suddenly collapse mid-examination.

As she gazed disinterestedly at her own hand, she was surprised to see energy that was not her own drifting across her vision. She looked around quickly, searching for the source of the energy. It took her a moment to find the thread of energy winding towards her, and follow it back to Gandalfs pointing staff. Little murmurs of melody came with it, blocking out a bit of the other noise.

When the power had dissipated, it's job apparently done, Omana realized that she had no idea when she was supposed to be returning. After a moments deliberation, she shifted back into the physical world. "Sorry if I'm early, or late, but I wasn't sure when you wanted me back."

Gandalf dismissed this with a wave of the hand. "What did you see?" She described to him what had happened, as he nodded his understanding. "I see. This time, I want you to go down a few levels..."

And so it went, with her performing various actions at Gandalf's request, and then waiting as his magic would interact with her (or not), before returning to the surface for more instructions. When the wizard finally called a halt, Omana's stomach was growling loudly, and what little light slipped under the door suggested it was almost midday.

"It is almost time for our meal," Gandalf said, "But, if you would like I can find out your age before we go."

She had completely forgotten about that, and in remembering it she felt a rush of excitement push away all thoughts of food. "If, if it wouldn't be too much trouble..."

"Of course not, of course not. " He said, "Now just stand there, and be patient - it may take a moment." And with that, he bowed his head, apparently deep in thought. Omana, accustomed to waiting for most things out in the woods, stood stock still, eyes watching, heart racing expectantly.

"Eighteen." He said without preamble, making Omana jump at the unexpectedness of his words.

"Wh-what?" She stammered, though she had heard him clearly.

"Eighteen years, five months, and seventeen days." He smiled kindly, and Omana thought that he seemed to do this a lot. "We shall have to make sure that you have a most splendid birthday party when the time comes."

"Birthday party?" she replied as the exited the room.

"Yes! A party that celebrates the day of your birth." Omana tried to picture what a party might look like in a palace, the only ones she had ever seen having been in the mountains, and certainly had not been for her. They came to a crossroads of halls, and he stopped, pointing out one of them. "The dining hall is that way - go have something to eat, and I shall retrieve you afterwards. I have business to attend to in the mean time." Then, he bustled off, leaving behind only the smell of his pipe smoke.

* * *

_She looks quite pleased with herself,_ Boromir thought as Omana walked into the dining hall and took a seat beside him. "The results were positive, I take it?"

"I do not know, for they are not finished," she said, grabbing her utensils. He reached over and corrected the way she held her fork for the third time, and she rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Gandalf says that there is more to do after our meal."

"Then why do you looked so very pleased?" He prompted, before taking a large bit of whatever meat is was hiding under all of that sauce.

She flushed a little with pleasure before saying, "Boromir, I'm eighteen years old."

"What?" Boromir exclaimed, looking her up and down. He supposed, if she were more filled out, she might look as old as that.

"Gandalf cast a spell, and he found out how old I am." She smiled brightly, taking a bite of food herself, before saying though it, "I am quite excited!"

He smiled back, before leaning in and saying, "It is not quite proper to speak with your mouth full." He pulled away, and she nodded gravely, swallowing. "But it is indeed exciting news."

She nodded, taking another bite, chewing, and swallowing pointedly before saying, "How old are you, Boromir?"

He glanced at her sideways. "Forty, but my ancestors were Dúnedain, so in the years of a normal man I would be thirty or thirty one."

She nodded, looking over at Faramir, who was chattering with Éowyn merrily. "I wonder what they are planning so deviously."

"I asked the king and queen, but they would not tell me." Boromir replied, shaking his head. "I suppose we shall just have to wait."

"Mmhmm." Omana replied as she chewed, Boromir watching as her eyes flicked away at the first sign of eye contact from the pair whom she watched.

"Omana," He began, "May I ask you something?" She nodded, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she ate. "Why... why is it that you are so shy around new people, but when we first met, you were not shy at all?"

She hesitated, then set down her fork and knife with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Do not be mad, Boromir, for it was an accident." Unsure what was about to come, Boromir's mind filled with a thousand explanations. "When I was in the Middle Realm, trying to rescue you, I was deep into the levels, and my energy was being sapped faster than it ever had been before. I... I was careless, and when I touched your soul... I did not have my defenses up, and your mind inhabited my body." She looked up at him, eyes apologetic. "I tried not to see, but it was impossible to ignore all. I saw... I saw who you were, and knew how you would treat someone like me. So I was not afraid when you woke." She looked away. "I am sorry."

Boromir was unsure exactly how to feel about this. To have someone know the inner workings of one's mind was not something that oft happened, but he supposed that if he were to have anyone see such, it would be Omana. She had not judged him upon what she had seen, as far as he could tell, and it had allowed her to be comfortable around him. So, having come to the conclusion that is was not all bad, Boromir gently put his hand upon her shoulder. "It is alright, Omana. I forgive you."

She looked up at him. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"Omana!" They both turned at her name, seeing Gandalf standing in the door way. "Come, we must be off - I know not how long this shall take, so we must hurry." The girl looked over at Boromir, and placed her hand gently over his for a briefly, before standing and moving over to Gandalf.

* * *

The sound of pain was what first struck Omana. The cries that she could hear coming from the building were not the kind that could be elicited any other way. She once again felt a flash of fear, before mentally cuffing herself over the ear, and reminding herself that Gandalf had been nothing but kind to her. "What is this place?" she asked, looking over at her companion.

"A hospital." Gandalf replied, "And a full one, after the recent battles." He glanced over. "This is going to be the true test of your powers, Omana."

Her breath caught, and she nodded, saying, "How many?"

"Just one for now, I think. You have done much already, I do not wish to exhaust you." She nodded agreement, steeling her mind as they stepped inside.

The cries grew exponentially louder, and the smell of blood and rot washed over Omana, making her hesitate a moment before taking another step. "Over here," Gandalf said, taking the lead again to bring her to the far end of the hospital. There, a pair of women stood beside a bed, holding each other and weeping. As the came nearer, Omana saw a young man, lying utterly still, with a large stain of blood blooming about his midriff. "He just died this morning." Gandalf told her softly, watching the two sobbing women with sympathy. "Can you ease their pain?"

Omana looked to him, to the women, to the dead man, back to Gandalf. She honestly wasn't sure. Depending on how extensive the damage was, she did not know if she could repair it, and if he had lost enough blood, it would be hopeless. But, instead of saying as much, Omana nodded, walking to the far side of the bed on unsteady legs. "Gandalf, I am going to terrify everyone in here."

Gandalf nodded slowly. "Others will have to overcome this fear if they intend for you to save them or their compatriots. But for now, do not worry yourself - they all know of what is about to happen."

Omana nodded in return, before shutting her eyes and slipping away.

The man was, to her relief, only in the second level - he had indeed died only this morning, and had not fought. Ignoring all the lights and sounds, she instead went straight to work, reaching out to cup the young man's soul into her hands. She felt the familiar wash of both love and regret as she gently moved the ball of light into the body again. She watched as the body flooded with life, and then instantly saw the problem. He had, luckily, not bled to death, though she would have to close the wound quickly in order to prevent this. The organs that had been torn had been unable to continue functioning, namely his intestines. Even if he had eaten a feast, he would have starved to death. Her hands flew across his middle, patching the holes with her own glow, and even adding a little more blood to his system, just in case. Then, after certifying that all was in order, she shifted into the physical realm again, opening her eyes. Much to her pleasure, the man's chest was once again moving steadily up and down, and no fresh blood stained his clothes.

However, the room had been cast into silence. All stared at her, most with horror, though a select few watched with fascination. Gandalf, in particular, looked quite interested, stepping over to examine the man. "He is alive," He affirmed, looking at Omana with careful neutrality, "You did it."

The two women, who had been watching her with looks of fright, turned upon hearing these words and gasped simultaneously. The younger of the two reached out hesitantly, taking the young man's hand. "He's warm." she whispered, kneeling beside the bed. "Could it be?"

Slowly, the man's eyes flickered open, eventually landing on the two women whose eyes quickly filled with tears. "Amel? Mother?" He rasped, looking at each.

"Maciej!" The young woman cried, clasping his hand tightly, sobbing now with joy. "It is a miracle, a miracle!" She looked up at Omana, less fear returning this time. "Thank you." She said, before turning back to the young man, the old woman now joining her beside his bed.

Gandalf was there beside her then, patting her on the shoulder. "It is indeed, a miracle." He looked at her seriously. "I shall talk with their Highnesses, but I believe that there is great potential in you, Omana."

_Great potential! _Omana thought as the exited, and indeed all through the rest of the afternoon, repeating it over and over in her head.

* * *

"Well?" Aragorn and Arwen both looked up as Gandalf entered their chambers after a brief knock, not waiting for an answer.

The old wizard shook his head. "She can do what she says - I witnessed it. She raised a young warrior from the dead, and he is already recovering rapidly."

"What is she?" Arwen asked, as he began to pace restlessly.

"I don't know." He mumbled, before looking up and saying more clearly, "The closest thing I can compare her to is a wraith, though that does not come close to describing it either. She seems to enter a world somewhat like theirs, and looks similar to they when she goes, but she can return, and clearly acts nothing like them." He shook his head again. "I can't understand it."

"Do you think there are others like her who might explain it?" Aragorn offered, but Gandalf shook his head impatiently.

"Nay - if there were, they would be as isolated as she was, and know no more." He finally took a seat, leaning his staff against the back. "She shall remain a mystery."

"And what do you suggest we do?" Aragorn asked, leaning forwards, "What shall we do with her?"

Here, however, Gandalf had answers - he had made sure he had some answers, if not many. "Omana could potentially be a great asset on the battlefield."

"Battlefield?" Arwen exclaimed, not loud but forceful, "A young girl?"

"She is not so young as you think," Gandalf remarked, "I believe her poor nutrition in the past has stunted her growth and development. She is actually eighteen years of age. If she eats enough, this may be reversible, however." He waved a hand, "But I digress. She would be better than any other field medic, and could be a safeguard for you," this addressed to Aragorn, "To be sure that you essentially could not be harmed."

"But will she wish to?" Aragorn pointed out, "We cannot force her."

Gandalf agreed, "No, we cannot, but I do not think we will have to. She is much like Lady Éowyn in this - she will be content to simply live in the castle for now, as it is a novel experience. But as the thrill of it fades, she will look for something more, and the field of battle would be ideal." The two royals nodded slowly, watching him. "She would clearly need training, of all sorts. Academic, weaponry, strategy, and so on. And, of course, practice in her... art."

After a moment, Arwen asked, "Gandalf, is she... could she become dangerous?"

He considered this, before nodding slowly. "I believe that, if influenced, any could become dangerous. But it is true, as I said, she could be a very strong asset. If she leaves the realm of morality, it is possible, though I am not certain, that she could use her skills to tear life from bodies without every harming them physically. Magic cannot affect her once she drops down in the levels - she would be almost unstoppable." He stood. "So we must be certain that, in her ignorance, she is not turned from the right path."

"And how-"

Aragorn did not get to finish his thought. "By showing her what love and kindness look like," Gandalf said, "Instead of the anger and hate which is always trying to wear away at our hearts." There was nothing else to say, and so without another word, the wizard left the room.

* * *

Faramir had been waiting the entire night to make their announcement. By the time the dinner was coming to a close, he was close to bursting with the knowledge of it, wanting to tell somebody, anybody, everybody! And so, it was with great excitement that he stood at a slight nod from Aragorn, bringing Éowyn up with him. The table began to hush, mainly due to efforts from Boromir, he was pleased to see, who was watching them expectantly.

Taking a deep breath, he began. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have an announcement to make." He paused briefly for dramatic effect, before finally getting to say the eight words that had become his world since the night before, and then become his entire universe since the morning. "Éowyn and I are going to be married."

The room erupted into applause, his own brother and the brother of his betrothed jumping up from their seats. They waited for the noise to die down, smiling at each other, before Éowyn continued, "The wedding it so be in three weeks time, provided graciously by Lord Aragorn and Lady Arwen." More applause, the large room echoing with it. Together, he and Éowyn bowed slightly to the king and queen, a silent thank you to add to all their verbal ones that morning. And then each of them were pulled away, both from each other and from their seats as their brothers swept them into embraces of titanic proportions.

"Faramir!" Boromir thundered, "Oh brother this is wonderful news, wonderful news indeed!" He pulled back, looking at him with one of the widest grins Faramir had ever encountered. "You are a lucky man, and she a lucky woman."

"The first certainly, though I can only hope at the second." He said, and they laughed together, the first real laugh they had shared together since Boromir's return. "You must be my best man."

Somehow his grin got wider, "I would be glad to, thank you Faramir." They embraced again, before Boromir went over to talk with Éowyn.

"Faramir." This time it was Éomer, his face also smiling, but with a serious tinge to it. "My brother." They shook hands firmly, while he continued, "If my sister is to be married, and stay here, I will not be able to protect her as I have. I must return to Rohan, to lead my people, and so it is to you that I entrust her safety. Can you do this for me?"

Faramir nodded solemnly, releasing the other man's hand. "I would die for her."

For a moment, the other simply stared into his eyes, as if searching for something there. "Yes." he said, "I believe you would." And, with a clap on the shoulder, he left, to return to the others in his party and talk.

"What was that?" Éowyn asked him, watching as he brother walked away, and as Boromir also re-seated himself.

"Nothing, love." he said, taking her hand and guiding her back to the table. "Do not trouble yourself."

As they seated themselves, she leaned over and whispered in his ear, "You know, Boromir told me to take care of you, too."

Faramir laughed, shooting a look of joking annoyance at his brother, who only started laughing himself. "And so we all understand each other." He decided, squeezing his soon-to-be-wife's hand. "I think this shall be quite the grand adventure."

* * *

**Well, Aragorn and Gandalf, all in one chapter! Whoo! Also, I actually have no idea how the whole Éowyn Faramir thing works out in the books, so if I get it all wrong don't yell at me please!**

** Reviews make me happy, so please leave me some!**


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